


The Claiming of Harry Potter

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-09
Updated: 2007-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-30 10:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 54,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10160993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: It’s sixth year, and the Dark Lord is on the move. Harry Potter’s aphrodisiacs have given him advantages and more unwanted attention, because now both Snape and Malfoy are dead after him. Why is nothing ever normal? (H/D, H/S, sub!Harry)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**Dreams and Potion Brewing**

Harry Potter was strapped down onto the bed, writhing in tortured pleasure as hands raked across his body. Every discovered hill and valley of the boy’s warm flesh was silky under coarse fingertips. Under him, the bedsprings creaked, and another weight came upon it, looming over the boy. Green eyes widened, breathing grew shallow. 

God, Potter smelled so good. 

His manhood was punishing as he heard the muffled cries of his captive. He was leaking already; they were both slick with tantalizing sweat. White-hot pleasure coursed through his very limbs as he caught sight of Potter struggling, flushed cheeks damp with tears and dew. It was so steamy, flesh on flesh tingling and a maddening craze engulfing him as he spread those long wonderful legs and— 

Severus Snape awoke with a start. Taking a furtive glance around his chambers, he sat upright and felt an odd, tingling sensation spindling its way across his body. This feeling left him giddy and winded— a feeling that he utterly detested. 

A clammy hand reached onto his forehead. He was sweating; — cold sweat, and was clearly out of breath; he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to breathe evenly. He could not relax— there was still a terrible but delicious fire in him he could not quench. The image in his dream haunted his mind. He closed his eyes and pictured it perfectly. 

A jolt traveled down his spine. 

Oh how he wanted to _fuck_ Potter out of his wits. 

Severus had always wanted Potter— since the first time he laid his eyes on the young, sweet lad in his first year. He brought to mind the wide-eyed Harry looking at him with a mixture of wonder and confusion. Snape had immediately thought of— oh yes— had remembered very clearly, the boy’s late father, James. For a moment Snape recoiled, bitter memories consuming what he had thought was his calm resolve… but with another glance at the boy, all testiness vanished. The son’s creamy skin and toothy grin told nothing of his father’s past sins. 

Although, Snape couldn’t deny that the boy irked him. He, the Potions Master, had never lusted over a student— _a first year at the time_ , especially— and so his bewildered self pointed unabashedly at a scapegoat: hate. Snape mustered all the loathing he could give only so he could protect himself from this young lad’s appeal. Year by year it had become easier for him to dress into his loathsome mask, yet year by year also, Harry’s Potter allure grew, until Snape was undoubtedly hooked on his charms. 

Countless times Snape had denied his fascination for the boy. The very denial gave him a fuel to abhor Harry even more. 

_This hate is good_ , He told himself many, many times, as if it were a mantra dissolving his budding feelings, this is a useful therapy to reduce and eradicate this nonsensical behavior I am assuming. 

So Snape began hating the way Harry’s hair tousled over to the other side, or how he and his friends snickered behind their cauldrons. Snape then hated everything about him, from Harry’s young touch to Harry’s black robe to his desk to his flasks and his cauldron. Why, Snape even began hating the way the boy looked at him, not because he was reminded of James, but because he could not control what he himself was feeling. And what was he was feeling? 

Lust. Love. Anger. Hate. He could not tell how much of which; it was like a palette of colors whipped together and streaked across him with a long, wide brush. No definite hate. No definite love. 

But now as all the years drew to the present, his lust for the Gryffindor became paramount above all other feelings. In his first year, Harry had been tempting enough, but after watching him grow into a stubborn, brash sixth year; all his crazed lust was pent up. Harry was like the young Lolita waiting to be snatched by him, the Humbert Humbert of the melancholic play, the big bad wolf preying on the young virgin. And how it would feel to have Potter under him in bed… 

He had to do something about it. He must get the Gryffindor boy. But how? He would certainly have to summon all his Slytherin cunning to be able to slip by Potter’s friends, and the teachers, and Dumbledore… 

_What am I thinking?_

Of course I will not do as I please. Of course I have a healthy restraint. And of course all this must simply be a trick of the mind. Potter is my student, unacceptable and impetuous as he may be, he is my pupil and that is that. Severus Snape does not crave the virginal kisses of a mere _boy_.’ 

Ah, yes, the demise. Severus had been battling himself for ages. A student, the very spawn of his schoolyard nemesis whom he had hated since time immemorial! What dignity did he have, to lust over a Gryffindor twenty years his junior, the child of that sickening bastard James Potter! 

Yet it could not be undone. His body pursued Harry Potter, or rather, the thought of the boy's lithe figure, with utmost obsession. Soon, the horror Snape had for the predicament slowly began to evolve. As a Slytherin, and a Death Eater, Severus Snape had always been rather attracted to perversity, and this dark devil within him stroked lovingly at the thought of fucking Potter, Harry Potter, bane of his existence and Savior of the Wizarding World, a barely-sixteen-year-old male, and a Gryffindor student; James' only son... 

This thirst for the taboo caused his lust to bleed deeper, seeping into his veins, coursing through his every being until his very breath ached for a touch of that boy... 

Through the years there had been instances when he had been alone with Potter, and he had struggled with himself almost painfully; half of him wanting nothing more than to drag the boy down to a nice, secluded area, tear robes from the lithe young form and take him— hard and rough against the wall. Over his desk. On the floor. 

His other half, the one that held what scruples he had left, whatever dignity he felt was necessary for an office in Hogwarts and a place in society-- that meager half would be telling him to shut up. 

But he could hardly control himself anymore. In his dreams he had no need to conform, but outside it he was cursed: under all the staff's noses, under the headmaster's wary eyes, amidst the bustle of school-- Snape strained; watching, waiting, coveting... 

In the sixth year of resisting, Severus Snape knew he was breaking. And he couldn't stand it. 

\--- 

“Come _on_ , Potter,” Malfoy panted, pushing Harry’s naked body down onto the mattress before them. Harry, facing down on the bed, struggled to resist, but instead the friction was turning the Slytherin on. 

The blonde groaned deeply when Harry’s pert behind rubbed against him. _Oh gods!_ They had just gotten here, and he was already having trouble containing his libido. He cursed himself for being so wholly enraptured, but gave no further heed as he frantically lapped at his fingers, coating them slick with spit. Without warning, he thrust them into Potter, who gave a tight gasp in response. 

And then the green-eyed boy sobbed into the pillow as those fierce fingers worked him, and he angled his bottom higher-- perhaps hoping it could provide a smoother intrusion. Malfoy grinned, moving upon the other boy and licking sensually at the crest of the boy’s ear, before biting down viciously on his neck. Malfoy couldn’t suppress a tight moan: Potter was _tight_. 

“I hope you’re ready enough,” He was able to ground out minutes later, before retracting his fingers. They made a wet sloshing noise, and Malfoy groaned again, his manhood throbbing in response. 

He pulled Harry’s legs wider, and positioned himself on the other boy’s entrance with the hastiness of someone tethered at the edge of control. But Draco did not like losing his cool like this, so endeavored to still himself as the head of his cock kissed the Gryffindor's entrance, merely to catch his breath before the fun began... then Draco realized that Harry's warm, welcoming body heat was enough to make him come. 

But _no_ \-- he'd been waiting for this for so long: He was going to shove his prick deep into Potter. Hard and fast, here it goes, one stroke— 

Malfoy opened his eyes, and then gave a frustrated curse. 

He was just on his bed, alone, his erection making a tent out of his bed covers. He thumped his fist on the bed in anger. Not Potter _again!_

He shut his eyes, trying to think of anyone, anyone else but that stupid prick. But nothing in the world could stop the image of Potter, his body slick against his own, face screwed up in painful ecstasy. 

Draco gave a silent curse, wondering madly why this was happening to him, him of all people, Potter’s sworn enemy since eleven. Why was it that every time Potter looked at him nowadays, he’d wanted to shove himself into that gorgeous mouth? 

His cock throbbed passionately. This was _not_ good. 

It had been more than a year since he began resisting this powerful attraction. During the classes they shared together, Draco always had a seat behind Potter, and every single time Potter bent over to fetch a book in his bag, Draco's prick would jump to rapt attention. No matter that they shared classes many times in a day, for it was always the same. For the first few times, he’d been infuriated, but now he was just plain annoyed. 

Completely tired of playing games with himself, Draco shot up from the bed and made his way to the bathrooms, grabbing his towel as a second thought. When he arrived, the blonde wasted no time, he slid off his clothes and quickly climbed into the shower stall, furious at himself for having that stupid dream and then demeaning himself more by wanking off to it anyway. 

The water from the shower head grew loud immediately; he sighed as steam engulfed him and warm, luxurious water tapped at his tense shoulders. He would have felt quite satisfied with just a shower, but his prick hadn't softened at all, and it throbbed with impatience. 

Draco frowned, and then closed his eyes, resigned, and grasped himself. 

Showers were the only time Draco Malfoy ever allowed himself to think of Harry Potter, and so called an image of the Gryffindor on all fours. The sight made him hitch an immediate breath. He saw himself in his fantasy, behind Potter, pounding furiously into him with as much strength as he could muster while the boy beneath shook and cried and came. Most of Draco's fantasies involved him doing it rough on the Gryffindor; it was as if anger fueled his lust. Anger and insanity, in his case. 

But god, he wanted Potter. He wanted Potter to be his slave. He wanted Potter to beg and scream for mercy. He wanted to tear the Gryffindor’s clothes apart, hear the rip echo through the room along with sighs and whimpers, a flash of flesh at each tear. He wanted Potter to stare right at him, bare and defenseless, offering up his body fearfully. 

_He'd try to fight_. Malfoy thought to himself, pumping with his eyes closed and warm water running through his hair and body. _He’d fight and I'd find it astoundingly erotic. I’d have him pinned up against me before I have the wonderful satisfaction of sliding in… He'd yell from pain, maybe, and the brutality of it all; maybe he’d like it. Who knows? But I’d want him to struggle, and I'd pound into him some more._

Draco's pace grew frantic as he imagined this scene. At the throws of reverent lust he barely registered that he was panting heavily, and that his condition would have been painfully obvious if someone entered the common bathrooms. But at this point, he didn't give a damn. 

_Yes, he'd scream, he'd gasp, but I would enjoy this violent thrusting. Harder and harder I'll plunge, and he'd be yelling his lungs out, and I'd—_

It’s Potter 

It’s Potter 

_I’m fucking Potter—_

"Fuck!" 

Draco opened his teary eyes as he felt himself releasing everything. A wonderful surge of hormones breathed its way over his loins, his stomach, his whole being. Lean arms felt like lead; he had to bend onto the wall, panting loudly. He could not believe he had thought those things about _him_. He could not believe he had strained his ears, mentally imagining a certain boy’s screams. 

But yes, he had to admit it, that was the fucking best wank he'd ever had in his entire life-- and given how many times he'd submitted himself to jerking off, _that_ admission was saying something. The painful truth enameled: for some odd reason, Draco Malfoy really got his rockers of the Gryffindor half-blood. 

For a moment Draco allowed himself to mull over the gleaming prospect of actually bedding Potter, and strangely enough, it piqued his interest. Gods, if one wank was this fantastic, how much more for the real thing? 

_NO. I do NOT want Harry fucking Potter!_ He swiftly and angrily berated himself as he got out of the shower stall and reached for his towel. His hands were shaking as he gave his yellow-blonde hair a rough dry. _I don't fucking want him! I don't! I don't!_

Yet he felt empty saying this to himself. Given that he had been reciting it every single time he masturbated to Potter, (which was quite often) he felt that he could not longer lie to himself. 

The time of denial was over, Draco realized. He could not, for pride's sake, further blind himself to what was apparently his greatest wish. He was a Slytherin of repute-- he'd seduced every woman and man that had ever induced even a tingle from his cock. So why couldn't he have Potter? What was the difference if his target was a Gryffindor, his nemesis, and incidentally, The-Boy-Who-Lived, who defied The Dark Lord about sixteen years ago? Who cared if it was Saint Harry Fucking Potter? 

Draco _needed_ him. Months of ogling in class, fantasizing at nights; months of roaring lust for the boy was enough! Draco was used to getting what he wanted, and when he didn’t, his desire increased a hundred fold. He would get Potter on his bed, if it was the last thing he’d do. 

\--- 

"Detention, Potter. And another zero, I should think." 

Snape loved the way Potter glared up at him with those expressive green eyes. He watched Potter trembled in anger as he held up his concoction in his hand in a white-knuckled grasp; Snape was entranced with the way those cheeks burned red with rage. How easy it was for him to imagine him flushing and squirming relentlessly on his bed. 

"But this is the best potion I've ever done, Professor!" Said Harry, fuming. "Why do I get zero? What did I do wrong?" 

Snape offered a tiny, almost invisible smirk. _Flies, such as yourself; puny, worthless little pests, live only for the satisfaction of the killer._ He saw Potter's eyes widen in astonishment, as if he had caught the thought, but Snape hardly cared. He strode forward until he was a few intimidating meters from the boy, close enough to feel the air between them bristle with delicious tension. 

“Wrong cork, Potter.” Said Snape quietly, before turning around and stalking towards his desk. Harry stood, his mouth midway from yelling out a curse, but nothing dared to emerge. _Wrong cork? There was only one kind of cork!_ thought the boy furiously. 

"Now, class, you will place your vials on my desk before your second task." Said Snape. 

Snape heard the taunts and jeers of the Slytherins and knew that Harry would only feel a deep-rooted rage for his ridicule, but this knowledge only delighted the Potions Master. He stalked back to the front of the classroom, making sure his students surmised his ruthless, overruling expression. The laughter died down, and he felt Harry’s glare from the side, a deep heated glare that only excited the Slytherin. 

Beneath Snape’s lecture about the day’s lesson, he was toying with the idea of using his most advanced skills in Legilimency to have a glance at Potter’s mind, but he had never used Legilimency against a trustworthy student before and didn't know whether Harry would be keen enough to feel him rummaging through his thoughts. He glanced at the boy in question. 

Harry was breathing erratically from anger, Snape mused, feeling the urge to pull him down onto the desk and screw him right there. Blood drained from his face at the thought, his pants constricting almost painfully. It was surprising how easily he could be affected. Annoyed, he decided he _would_ invade the boy’s privacy. 

As Snape turned towards his cauldron to point out the several ways one had to stir, he caught Harry’s glare and spoke slowly, as though he were merely mocking Harry by directing his lesson onto him. 

“Now, _Potter_ , we all know that you need more attention than the others, seeing as you _barely_ scraped past ‘ _troll_ ’ on your grades last year…” 

Of course, this was just a ruse; Snape’s real intention was to keep eye contact long enough for him to slither into Potter’s mind. 

His Occlumency shields were scattered; emotions ran as rampant as a raging bull, and Snape did not even have to try hard to see glimpses and sensations from the young boy. Inside, Harry was seeing red. Heat coursed through his body as thoughts pummeled past each other. How could Snape treat him this way? How could Snape act as if nothing at all had happened? They were both part of the Order now, fighting for the same cause, the same side! Harry spent months believing that everything that had happened the previous year had somehow managed to placate his malevolent behavior. 

_Obviously, Sirius' death was more like a treat for him,_ thought Harry savagely, but at that moment, he gave a wounded cry. 

"Ouch!" 

A loud explosion shook the whole room. Snape jerked from his one moment’s spelunking. The whole room sprang back like a rubber band snapping into place. Glass shattered, and several people gasped out in surprise. An ominous hiss awoke from the vapors of an ill-mustered concoction. Snape stared for a moment, stunned at the scene before him. 

He realized in an instant what had happened: the flask Potter was holding had heated up and shattered right into his face. Scratches and blood marred his tender flesh, and his hands were messy with crimson. The potion, or what was left of it, had come upon Potter, seeping through his clothes and skin like liquid acid. Harry was frantically trying to brush off the offending concoction, but it was too late. 

Snape watched in both horror and fascination as Harry's knees gave way. His friends, Granger and Weasley, came to his aid at once as he staggered back. The potion had its effects quite blatantly on the poor raven head; his eyes grew instantly blank and distant. 

The Potions room filled with scuffles and shouts as the rest of the potion began traveling down the stone expanse of the floor. Hermione Granger immediately brandished her wand, and swept the room clean with a powerful spell. At that moment Snape stirred from his stupor, irritated at himself for having been so stunned. He straightened swiftly, moving towards the boy and his ludicrous friends, black cloak rustling gracefully behind him. 

Weasley had caught the disoriented boy by the shoulders, stumbling down onto the floor with him, even as Granger immediately treated to the glass that was still poking out of Potter's cheeks with a complicated swish of her wand and a muttering of spells. 

“I can’t believe how much of a firecracker Harry is recently—” the redhead muttered, trying to get comfortable as their fallen friend pinned him down with dead weight. 

“Oh Ron, don’t be such a hypocrite.” huffed the muggleborn, giving a meaningful look. Weasley blushed, but it was missed, for she had knelt down to inspect Harry more thoroughly. 

“I don't know what he hit himself with,” she said, vocalizing her thoughts as she waved her hand in front of non-responsive green eyes, “it can't be the Rhasis Growth Potion he made, because he heated it up, and the color changed.” 

“Quite astute of you, Miss Granger,” Remarked a deep voice from above her. Hermione lifted her head to the towering figure, her face a cross of worry and annoyance. Snape sneered, “However, I would like to ask that know-it-all brain of yours as to how we are to cure him, since you've erased all evidence of the potion.” 

Hermione opened her mouth, and then closed it again, speechless. Snape's eyes grew wintry, “Both of you will have detention with Filch, and Gryffindor will suffer ten points from the brash way you took charge. Now, move aside.” 

Neither had the urge to challenge the remark with the way Snape looked at them; they stood aside and let the Potions Master inspect their friend. Snape only took a moment to check Harry's pulse, temperature and breathing, (his hand lingering upon his abdomen) before he leaned back to think. He barely noticed another form coming to stand behind him until he spoke. 

“Professor, these two Gryffindor loots should have left things up to you, but perhaps Potter needs to get to the infirmary.” 

Snape turned, his astonishment well hidden with his cool mask of reserve as he inspected Draco Malfoy, who was sneering haughtily at Ron and Hermione. Upon gaining the Potions Master's attention, the blonde dropped the sneer, and added, “I can bring him there, if you wish.” 

Everyone on the room began glancing each other, incredulous to this sudden change over the blonde. Draco seemed to relish the attention, for he smirked more brazenly. 

“No,” Weasley exclaimed, “For all we know you'll push Harry off a window or something!” 

“Wonderful assumption, Weasel,” snapped the blonde smoothly, ever so cool, “save that there are no windows down at the dungeons.” 

Snape watched the redhead gape like a guppy for a moment, before falling silent. The boy certainly had no qualms with being insufferably idiotic, but Snape could not just stand there, equally agape. He recollected himself, drawing intimidation from his height as he stood to regard the blonde. Malfoy did not flinch, or change his stance; he seemed only proud and arrogant as always, as if only wanting to prove how much better he was compared to the impetuous Gryffindors. 

It was up to the Potions Master to decide, of course. He glanced at Potter, who looked so delectable, all flushed up on the floor, that Snape wanted so much to touch him again. Angered at his own thought, he forced himself to look away. It would do no good if he himself delivered the boy to Pomphrey, for he was not sure he could keep his hands off from molesting a student. Potter's friends would certainly bring him without complaint, but Snape felt quite vindictive, and didn't want to give them the pleasure. Malfoy's suggestion was the most appropriate. 

“Ten points to Slytherin for thinking responsively, and yes, take Potter to the infirmary, not more damaged as he is already. Any other asinine objections?” 

Snape looked pointedly at Hermione and Ron, who looked as if they had every objection in the world, but deigned to speak. Snape resisted the urge of looking back at the raven head boy on the floor, a full force of longing battling with an urge to preserve his morals. He was a _professor_ , he told himself for an infinite time, he was a respectable professor and there was no way he would demean himself to hounding after James' cocksure son. 

The classroom was now so still with the surprising turn of events. Malfoy certainly outdid himself this time, thought Snape. 

"As for the rest of you," he spat suddenly, eyes surveying the class like a hawk, "Back to your work." 

\--- 

Harry Potter, meanwhile, could hear everything, but he had quite a problem trying to see clearly. It was as if he was in a distant world, and every sound was going through a tunnel, although every touch of his skin seemed to be magnified beyond measure. His body was sluggish at his command. 

His heart skipped a beat as a blonde boy roughly pulled him up. He knew it was Malfoy, and he felt a tingling spark when his hand brushed over the blonde's smooth neck. He was sure Malfoy felt it too, because the Slytherin stiffened before putting his own arm around Harry's waist. 

Harry wanted very much to jerk away, but his body told him to lean more heavily on him instead. He did not have control of his legs, and it seemed as if he was swimming on air, hurdling through waves of nothing, with a body latched on next to him. Harry wondered why everything looked so woozy. 

They staggered out of the classroom. 

He could not remember how far he had gone before he felt the potion taking control of him… 

\--- 

Draco Malfoy hauled the confused Potter out of the dungeon very slowly, partly because the Gryffindor kept leaning left then right, and partly because he wanted to stay in close proximity with the boy. The hard breathing and weight transferring was certainly making him quite uncomfortable in the loins… 

Malfoy was confused. He had, of course, orchestrated himself to deliver Potter to the infirmary, if only to test his body's reactions. Half of him was hoping that he only wanted the _thought_ of Potter, but his body's response at the moment seemed to condemn that assumption. His prick was already rock hard under his trousers. 

Malfoy pondered as to how in Merlin's name he had gotten to this specific point. It was strange, because he had started off just envying Harry Potter for the undiminished attention. He _hated_ the way people noticed him rather than anyone else. He _stifled_ at the way all the goodie-too-shoes swooned at his stupid head, and _despised_ the way grown adults ooh-ed and ahhed over his stupid scar. It was all so stupid. _He_ was so stupid. 

In the middle of their first year, however, something changed inside him so subtly that he hardly noticed it had altered at all. He opened his eyes to what Potter was really like… And he began to notice the aura that emitted off him, the smile that he gave ever so effortlessly. The green eyes that flashed in anger or in happiness, and the way Potter made Malfoy feel the sexual rivulets radiating between them… 

It made Draco hate him more. Hate with a passion, hate with a great reckoning force. He burned at every instance Potter would do something better than he, yet he also wanted to claim him all for himself. He wanted to own Potter completely. 

And then the dreams: he was always dreaming of the boy on his bed. And in the bathroom. In the Quidditch field. In his common room. In his manor. Haunting him. _Everywhere._

Sometimes, he’d thought of wooing The Boy Who Lived, but that was quickly discarded. The truth was, his mind was mostly polluted with thoughts of angry, red sex. To him, their rivalry was the kinkiest thing that could ever have happened, and he dreamt that Potter was his captive in the Slytherin dorms, bound in chains and a slave forever. 

Oh yes, he perceived Potter as a sex toy. Each time the Gryffindor walked by, he sniffed in the scent, and felt the radiating sexuality, and watched that wonderful ass. But the moment the boy was out of his sight, Draco would deny ever thinking such ludicrous thoughts. For years his confusing predicament had been driving him crazy. Each night he would think he was a hopeless man, eager to fuck his most hated rival senseless, impossible as it was. And during the day, he would deny the very existence of his desire. 

Until last night... Because just last night he had made amends to himself and accepted the fact that he wanted Harry Potter. The line between possible and impossible vanished. Malfoy had pledged to finally take his due— his rival’s virginity. He would do _anything_ to have that sweet body under his. He would blackmail him if he could, a blackmail that would be heaven because it would be a first class permit into his pants. 

Speaking of which, now seemed a very, very good opportunity to take Potter’s pants down… 

_Down, boy, down,_ He told his lower half, but to no avail. Everything about Potter made him tingle with arousal. He fought with his more primal urges, telling them that this was a stupid moment to act, for if Snape or the other Gryffindor brats realized he hadn't delivered Potter to the infirmary, they would be after his blood. 

They coursed slowly through the dungeon corridors. Their very breathing was echoed by the cold, stone walls. Once they winded about the next corner, Malfoy was aware of every single fiber of his own skin that rubbed against the Gryffindor. Why was it the world seemed to crumble around them as they held each other tightly in the darkness? 

Suddenly The Boy Who Lived tripped upon his two graceless feet and tumbled down to the ground. Malfoy tried to catch him, but he was doing such a remarkable job at falling that the blonde had to laugh. Then he went very still. 

Potter was now sprawled on the floor, with his legs wide open. 

Then the most luscious but most dangerous thought passed him. 

_I could just take him right here. Right now… Without him resisting…_

"Shit," he mumbled, staring at Harry, who was panting up at him, eyes heavy lidded and clearly still in a bedazzled state. He looked oddly mischievous and flushed; his hair seemed to be more tousled than before, and it only made Malfoy's condition worse. 

His pants tightened, to a point that he almost couldn't stand properly. And here was Harry, looking sweet and sweaty, spreading his legs invitingly, with his green eyes that seemed to be sensually tempting him… Something inside Malfoy snapped. 

_That’s it!_

With no more restraint left for him to hold, he tore at Harry and gave him a wild, thirsty kiss, wasting no time in groping Harry’s rear and thrusting clothed pelvis up at him. 

What surprised Malfoy most was that Potter was responding. In fact, Potter was as intense and eager as he was himself. But Malfoy wasted no time in wondering; he tore Potter’s cloak and ripped down the buttons of his shirt, trailing hungry kisses down the boy’s collar and smelling the sweet whiff of Potter’s scent. 

He fumbled for the Gryffindor’s pants, just as Potter began licking the Slytherin’s exposed jaw line, biting at the sensitive skin there. He made his way down Malfoy’s collarbone, and each small touch sent a jolt of pleasure right straight to the blonde’s groin. Malfoy held the firm ass in his hands, groping and trying to feel his way into the trousers. 

But Malfoy stilled when he felt Potter’s legs wrap around him, fingers playing with his blonde hair. Flashes of his fantasies rounded up to him so suddenly that Malfoy breathed an obscene cry, imagining wonderfully naughty things as he rocked his clothed erection to the delicious boy, wondering how something so simple like this could be so intense—he could imagined how it would be if he were _inside_ — if he were driving into him! 

_So hot, with just this!_ Malfoy thought, wondering how intense sex would be, if this were only a prelude. 

Malfoy moaned as Potter settled to licking his ear. His cock was throbbing within his pants, whining for him to get to the point, so to speak, but Malfoy could not move. He was in paradise, having gone blind and deaf even if his eyes were feasting on the boy and his ears were strained to hear each breathless moan. Malfoy wanted nothing more than to shove Potter back in order to strip him properly, but he enjoyed the current snogging so much-- he was at pleasure's mercy. 

Growling, the blonde Slytherin grabbed Potter and thrust their lips together, his tongue finding his way in immediately. He plundered Potter's sweet mouth, taking claim upon him so brutally, feasting and owning and oh, Malfoy could feel himself mounting. He crushed the boy against the floor, eliciting a soft cry, but the sound in the corridor made Potter look up. Malfoy growled in frustration as he, too, glanced to his left. 

To his great horror, he saw Professor Snape, pale as the sight knocked the wind out of him. 

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, to the infirmary, now...." Snape said icily, his pale hands clenched so tightly it was shivering. His eyes scathed the scene at its wake with a trembling ferocity that Malfoy dared not contradict. Cursing under his breath and running his fingers through his untidy blonde hair, he wasted no time in adjusting his pants and dragging the luscious Harry Potter to the infirmary, vision and loins still tingling from the encounter. 

\--- 

Jealousy was a path to madness, and Professor Severus Snape was well on it. By all means he wanted to charge into the Slytherin common rooms, drag the blonde by the hair and crush his head onto a nice rough wall, but instead, he took to pacing across the room like a wolf stalking an invisible prey. His thoughts were florid with both anger and retribution. That self-absorbed prat Malfoy! Snape should have never let him handle Potter, should have never agreed to that malicious plan, should have never. Ever. Given Malfoy so much as a hint that he would leave Potter in his care. 

And the fact that the scene kept repeating in his head made him want to scream. His face could no longer hold onto an emotionless facade, instead it was a face of pure white fury. Potter looked incredibly delicious, squirming against the floor, debauched and his legs all spread out, but the thought of that blonde pint pinning him down coiled at his gut. 

Only ten minutes after the boys had left the classroom, Severus Snape had worked to a conclusion. His brilliant mind had deduced the qualities of whatever Potter had made: heating Rhasis would make it akin to the love draught of Aros, a powerful Greek aphrodisiac that would render Potter feverish with lust. _Lust!_

He had immediately stormed out of the classroom, leaving his bewildered students behind, but he was past the point of caring. He had only one hope: and that was that Potter withheld the effects until he'd gotten to the infirmary. 

But his hopes were in vain, for finding the two boys upon the corridor confirmed his suspicion. Snape's cock immediately stiffened at the sight of Potter, panting and gyrating and _moaning_ like that, but to have Draco Malfoy to receive it...! 

Snape lashed out at a pile of books, sending them toppling to the floor. His mind exploded with a new set of epithets. That was _it._ Malfoy clearly wanted the boy, but Snape would not allow that to ever happen. Screw scruples, screw morality, screw the fact that Harry James Evans Potter was his student. He belonged solely to Snape, and he was going to make that crystal clear. 

Crystal, crystal clear. 


	2. Alleviating the Lust Potion

  
Author's notes: Harry alleviates the lust potion, with the Potion Master struggling for control. Harry also finds out what else will befall him in the coming days...  


* * *

**I– Alleviating the Lust Potion**

Harry awoke to Madame Pomphrey’s pleasant humming. The infirmary curtains surrounded his mattress so he couldn’t actually see her, but he could feel her presence as she traveled from one end of the room to another, reorganizing equipment. He stretched out languidly and reached for his glasses at his bedside table, but feeling only the smooth oak of the desk, he peered to his right and found himself staring at a little clock with perfect, pristine clarity. He glanced around, blinking owlishly. 

What had happened? Why was he in the infirmary this time? Harry's mind was still a jumble of confusion, and a spinning migraine began to form as he recalled glimpses of a young hard body against his, hands gliding over his chest and insisting upon undoing his pants. 

Harry nearly had a heart attack when he remembered the boy to have straw blonde hair. 

Merlin! Ron and Hermione must have made an executive decision to dump him here, mental as he was to have snogged Draco Malfoy! He shuddered, but although his mind screamed disgust, he felt himself grow stiff with arousal. 

_What the hell?_ Thought Harry, eyes wide in bewilderment, desire growing hot inside him as his mind sought back a play-by-play recollection. Malfoy had been pinning him down, laving thickly at the expanse of his neck, and though Harry began to blush with shame, a part of him was wonderfully exhilarated. He sought out a plausible explanation for his reaction, frantically wondering whether someone had cursed him, or given him a whack on the head or an absurd dare he had been forced to do. In earnest he tried to remember what had happened _before_ snogging the Slytherin, and that was... 

His potion, bursting in his hands. Yes, it had grown so hot in a matter of seconds before it blew up in his face. Harry had a large memory lapse right after he had fallen against Ron, and the next thing he knew, he was gyrating on the floor like a hussy, letting the blonde feast on him with fervent want. 

Not that he hadn't done any devouring of his own. 

Harry shuddered again, but this time his arousal was more alive, and throbbed, hoping for a bit more contact. Harry was just thinking of reaching below in acquiesce to his body's wishes, but stilled when he heard the infirmary door opening from outside. 

Harry heard the muffled voice of Madam Pomphrey from somewhere in the back room. 

“Yes, Severus? What is it?” 

“I’ve come to collect Potter,” was the smooth reply. 

More shuffling. Drawers rolled open and close. Footsteps padded around the room. Madame Pomphrey was clearly too busy to be paying Snape much attention. Harry could imagine Snape’s irritation. The woman paused for a second, only to say, “I’m afraid that’s not possible, professor, he still hasn’t come to.” 

“You are mistaken as always, Poppy. The boy should be awake. I know potions well enough to assume that.” “I— uhh, actually,” Harry called, his voice cracking, “I was just getting up.” 

A tense silence followed. Harry thought they were gearing for a fight. 

There was a swish of curtain and Harry was staring face to face with the looming Professor Snape. He looked murderous, but Harry was only thinking whether he'd be a good lay. Harry quickly looked away, flushing and hoping Snape did not catch his thought. 

“Shall I get ready to leave?” He asked, meekly. Snape only nodded once, and turned to the door. 

“You can’t just do that!” Burst Madame Pomphrey. “He’s just recovered! It is not wise to—” 

“—Be assured,” Shot Snape, sending the rosy-cheeked woman an icy glare, “That I know the infirmary’s protocols just as I know each and every shade of Mandrake shit. But Mr. Potter needs some extra treatment for the Lust potion he has smeared upon himself. I have just completed it.” 

At these words Harry’s cheeks burned red. It explained a lot, but with the way Snape talked about it, he felt exposed. The Potions Professor glanced at him indifferently. 

“You could have just brought the bottle," huffed Madam Pomphrey. 

“Then it will ensure the retention of Mr. Potter’s condition, much to our horrendous dismay, as the antidote requires a controlled atmosphere. But I didn’t imagine _you_ to know that.” 

“Of course, Severus, seeing as I don’t make lust potions.” Muttered Madam Pomphrey. She made her way throughout the infirmary before she strode over to Harry, “Here are your glasses Harry, and make sure your professor eats mandrake gunk of every color.” 

Harry stood up, but looked at her in the eye. 

“Thanks, but… I don’t really seem to need it right now. —I can see. I mean, without my glasses ‘see’. Err… Is this effect permanent?” 

Madam Pomphrey gave him a wry expression. “Go ask him. _He’s_ the aphrodisiac expert.” 

\--- 

It appeared that Snape was not even going to entertain his question, and Harry was slightly annoyed. Nevertheless, he followed his Potions professor down from the infirmary. 

Harry was so ashamed of himself, because even at this moment he was distracted with thoughts of sex. And to have _mused_ over the Potions Master that way was abhorrent! Just as abhorrent as, lets say, making out with the snotty, arrogant mini-Death Eater Draco Malfoy! 

But much as he was torturing himself for his apparent lack of restraint, Snape’s thick, deep voice came back to him, making him shiver with lust. The dark obsidian eyes excited him in a strange way, though at the same time, made him mentally gag in revulsion. First Malfoy, and now Snape! 

As they snaked their way into the dungeons, Harry innocently asked, “Am I excused from Charms, sir?” 

Snape didn’t even falter. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Oh… Did you dream of this?” 

They halted abruptly. Snape turned, and Harry looked at him, flabbergasted. He didn’t mean to say it out loud, especially with that husky tone; it had just been a fleeting question that had been punctuating the gruels of his mind. Clearly, whatever was in his body was poisoning his brain. And sanity. 

Harry had no idea of what to do, especially since Snape looked almost calculating. When he abruptly advanced on the Gryffindor, robes billowing as he did so, Harry began stumbling back. “Sir, I didn’t mean— it was the potion—” 

Harry suddenly found himself pinned onto the wall. Long fingers latched onto his chin, raising it to face a glare he actually earned, for once. Snape’s face was inches away. 

“Yes… The potion, Potter, was it?” 

Harry trembled, but it was far from a fearful one. Flesh on flesh tingled. He looked warily up at the older man, trying to gauge what he meant. He even tried used his newfound skill of Legilimency, but realized that Snape’s Occlumency shields were sky high. Harry fumbled with the ability. 

Snape didn’t seem to have noticed. He was staring intently at Harry’s face, looking both ravenous and livid. “It is dangerous for someone like you to get into a fix such as this,” he whispered, snarling, “How easy it is for anyone to take advantage of you.” 

He moved closer, so that Harry could clearly feel the bulge in the other man’s pants. Green eyes widened in complete shock. 

“You should know, Potter; that since you are not too hard on the eyes, and your innocence begs to be corrupted, many men out there will want to _fuck_ you. Your _display_ with Mr. Malfoy is testimony to that. You must be careful of where you intend your innuendos to lead.” 

Harry’s cheeks were burning, and he was confused as hell. Was Severus simply berating him for that incident with Malfoy? Was he giving compliments, suggestions or warnings? Nevertheless, the speech made a knot out of his stomach. 

Snape pulled away, grabbed Harry’s cloak and dragged him down the rest of the path. He muttered an obscure password to the carved Medusa, who was licking her lips on her pedestal. Snape barely registered her engraved onto the old, stained door as he charged in with the Gryffindor. 

Harry assumed this to be the Potion Master’s quarters, but he did not have much of a glance as he was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. Snape strode quickly to the other side of the room and began filing through cabinets and bottles. Harry gave him a nasty look and muttered a cuss under his breath. Snape hadn’t heard, his door having closed loudly with a snap of a lock. 

“It would be most uncomfortable to have your cloak stay on you.” Muttered Snape. 

Harry then realized that the room was very humid, and that he had already begun to sweat. He removed his cloak clumsily and undid his tie, exhaling as the heat attempted to choke him. He began running his hand through his tresses, making it come back up in spikes, but at least the gesture made him feel a bit of air. He sighed and looked up, catching Snape’s stare through a mirror on one of the cabinets. Snape broke eye contact, and pretended he hadn’t been caught. 

After shuffling at what seemed about a minute, the Potions Master turned around to face him. 

“This potion is capricious. You must take it in a slow, suckling fashion. If you don’t, then the effects of this antidote will amount to nil.” 

He handed Harry a tubular bottle holding clear liquid, and Harry vaguely wondered if one could overdose with Veritaserum. As if reading his thoughts (maybe he really did,) Snape shook the bottle, and Harry watched the un-Veritaserum-ish foam bubbling within. 

“Cheers,” Harry said, taking it. 

He sucked slowly, and the taste was familiarly sweet. Honey-like, Harry decided. He closed his eyes, using his tongue and cheek muscles with enthusiasm. He did not know what prompted it, but his tongue began to lave hotly at the rim. It was such a turn on, but he wouldn’t admit to himself that he was already hard under his clothes and his pants were constricting almost painfully. He could feel himself blush as he thought of the professor watching him. 

When the potion was almost finished, Harry peeked and found a pair of very intense eyes watching him. Snape had sat down on a couch, and was staring at him keenly, as one would watch a very captivating pet. Harry preened as he finished the bottle and turned to face him. Snape leaned back. 

“How easy it was for you to trust.” Snape said coldly. Harry shrugged. 

Snape narrowed his eyes, shifting in his seat. “It is a trait for fools, no doubt.” Harry could very clearly see the bulge in the professor’s pants. A jolt of lust shot through him. Snape looked like he was going to pounce, and seemed to be straining to keep himself on the chair. His hands were grasping the armrests tightly. 

“We will now have to wait the effects in here,” He spat, “rather than setting you off hankering around where others can find you.” The last words were extremely fierce, as if Snape was trying to control his anger. Harry was confounded. 

“I’m sorry, sir? I don’t understand.” 

Snape sighed, leaning towards him. “The antidote will only stimulate a most immediate lust, which is part of the process. Without the remedy, you would have had to endure your predicament for several fortnights, but as it is, once you have been… _satisfied_ , you will be back to your normal, foolish self.” 

Snape looked smug, as if he dared Harry to wank off in front of him. Harry cocked his head to the side. 

“And you’re not letting me out because…?” 

“It will be most improper for you to pounce on some other, unwary, confused student. Worse yet, another faculty.” 

The encounter with Malfoy flashed through Harry’s mind. He tried his best to retain his revulsion, but his nausea seemed to die away, replaced only with aggravated arousal that made him quite bold and impish. He couldn’t resist a devilish grin. “So you’d rather I pounce on you?” 

“You are extremely arrogant when you are lustful, Mr. Potter.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes, and began crawling towards the chair. Inside, he was horrified at what he was doing, it was as if his body had a mind of its own. He kept telling himself that he didn't want this; that he _couldn't_ want this, but he could not resist conceding to it anyway. Snape, for his part, tensed and paled slightly, but could not rip his eyes away from the sensual exhibition. Harry’s grin grew feral as he whispered, “I don’t think I’m the only one in heat…” 

Harry's inner struggle was waning, and the cat in heat was clearly the winner. His hands crept up Snape's knees, spread them and nuzzled himself on cloth-clad thighs. He could sense that the professor was battling his own demons, and his hands made to push Harry away, but Harry only caught them. 

“Don’t,” Harry whispered. 

“Mr. Potter, this is most inappropriate. Get up…” 

“Yes,” Harry conceded, slowly, as if he were not Harry Potter at all but a minx, a minx in dire need, “Yes, most improper, and it does not matter.” 

“Of course it does, you fool,” muttered Snape, but it was becoming increasingly hard to resist. He gave a slight shudder, “I am your professor, Harry...” 

Harry shook his head, “You want me, I want you, that's all that's got to matter...” Snape glared at him, and his eyes hardened when Harry decided to add, “Malfoy seemed to have no qualms...” 

Harry never had the chance to continue. Snape pulled away in flared jealousy, but angry as though he was he did not contradict the boy's hands coming to rest upon his clothes, if only to skillfully removed the confines of his pants. It took barely a moment to released him. 

Snape was hard as hell, but one look at the boy seemed to have doubled his arousal. He gripped the handles of his chair as Harry shot him a sultry look, and dragged the tip of his tongue up the turgid length. The younger boy licked passionately, starting softly from tip to base, enjoying the slight writhing the older man was doing. 

The room was silent save the wet sounds Harry was creating, and the low growls Snape responded with. Snape looked delirious, a tethered animal at the edge of control, and Harry took pleasure from his groans; he swirled his tongue around the thick head and Snape rewarded him with a sharp intake of breath. 

Eventually, Harry dipped his head and sucked, pressing harder against the other man before taking him fully with his mouth. 

Severus Snape moaned, lifting himself up to be captured. His long, slender hands came to rest on Harry’s unruly hair, guiding him up and down himself. Harry could feel Snape mounting, could feel his own building and he sucked deeper and harder… 

“S…Stop… Potter… Don’t…” 

With seemingly harsh, conflicting feelings Snape pushed at him, releasing the younger boy, and Harry gazed up at him with wet, swollen lips. The older man groaned and looked away, his breathing ragged and eyes closed. He put his hand to his temple and tried to catch his breath. 

It was as if the spell had suddenly broken, and Harry felt ashamed as the realization hit him in one swift blow. Wordlessly, he flushed a deep shade of vermilion and began hastily rearranging his garments. Snape, too, began dressing before he allowed himself to look at his student. 

But when he did, Harry was astonished. The Potions Master’s gaze was past ravenous, it was obsessive. He took him with his eyes, swept through Harry’s whole being as if claiming territory. Harry caught a thought that exuded from the older man. 

_I have to fuck him!_

“And yes, your eyes are permanent.” With that, the older man left, closing the door behind him. 

Harry was startled when Snape abruptly stood up, walked towards the door and gripped the handle with a white knuckled grasp. “Stay here and do as you wish,” Snape said softly, “You can leave when you are satisfied… Be down at the Great Hall for dinner.” Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but Snape interrupted him. 

\--- 

Because the strange incidents of the day were unnerving, Harry Potter decided to skip all of his classes. He came down quietly with the crowd as they congregated to the Great Hall for dinner. He was one of the first to sit in his usual seat and he peeked up at the teacher’s table. 

Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were discussing something to Dumbledore, who had a slight smile on his face as he nodded thoughtfully over a point presented. Next to them, professor Sprout was scrutinizing something on the table and the seat next to her, Professor Snape’s, was unoccupied. Harry frowned. 

“Harry!” 

Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Neville came towards him from the throng of students. Ron had an arm around Hermione and looked very content while Hermione was glowing with satisfaction. Harry lifted an eyebrow. The two took seats across him while Ginny and Neville came to sit on either of Harry’s side. 

“Had a fun day, did we?” teased Harry. Hermione turned beat red. 

“Where were you all day, mate?” Asked Ron, “We went to visit you during break time, but Madam Pomphrey told us you had gone with Snape!” 

“Err, yeah,” said Harry, trying his best to restrain his own blush, “We hadta… correct the side effects…” 

“Harry, what’s happened with your eyes?” Hermione exclaimed. 

“Huh?” 

“Look!” Hermione gasped, motioning Ron to her perspective. “Harry, look at my finger,” she lifted it in an angle a little to her left, higher than her head. Harry followed, wondering how idiotic he looked staring at her digit. 

“Wow,” Ron breathed. 

Harry was irritated at how people were gawking. “What?” 

“Yeah, I see it!” Ginny squealed, her face inches from his, tilted to her right. “Look Nev!” 

“What is it!?” Harry burst out. All of his friends blinked up at him in surprise. Some people from the other houses glanced at them. Harry began to flush red. 

Ron laughed, “Relax. The side effects of the potion. Your eyes are still green, but really translucent, if the light hits it right.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“It kinda glows brighter.” Piped in Neville, “Is it because you’re not wearing your glasses…?” 

Harry shrugged. “Professor Snape says this is permanent. I’m not going to need my glasses anymore.” Right when he said it, he felt a little sad. “I left them with Madam Pomphrey.” 

“You look really hot,” remarked Ginny, nodding in affirmation. Harry blushed again. 

It was a good thing the food appeared because he just couldn’t deal with people teasing him about how often he would flush at the slightest compliment. It was one trait he had never really liked about himself, especially because he couldn’t control it. Although, Harry did wonder if the lack of his glasses and the luminosity of his eyes made him look better. He resorted to check the next time he visited the bathroom. 

Harry began loading his plate. Another glance at the teacher’s table told him Snape had not yet returned. A small worry began to nag at him. Was Snape feeling awkward after what Harry had done? When could he apologize to him? 

Would he apologize to Malfoy? 

Harry looked at the Slytherin’s table absentmindedly. He was surprised to find Malfoy staring back at him, a strange expression in his eyes. He smirked, in an ominous sort of way, like he knew something Harry didn’t, and it made Harry’s heart skip a beat. He remembered their hot kisses and shared embraces. Heat was rising on his cheeks and he looked away and sighed, resorting to glaring at his food. 

He wondered, heatedly, why two of the most abominable people in the school were suddenly intent of debauching him instead of killing him. He was also unsure if he felt happier or more miserable at the change. He had never considered himself to be gay, although he'd caught himself admiring Fred and George (100% happy bisexuals) even when he had been drooling over Cho, and had noticed, a few years ago, how most wizards accepted same-sex couples, though there were still some who were prejudicial and homophobic to the last degree. 

But that wasn't really the issue: he was not scared about whether he was gay or straight (although that would surely give the school another chapter to talk about) the issue was that Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy, among all the other blokes in the school or in the entire Wizarding world, were the ones who snogged him, and in one day too! It couldn't have been just the potion, could it? What he knew was that the potion only worked one way- and that was to make _him_ horny. So what were these two Slytherins thinking? 

He was just pondering over that when when Hermione gave him a kick to the shin. It didn't hurt, but he still shot her an annoyed look, surprised when she regarded him seriously. 

“There’s something you should know, Harry.” She said. Harry leaned in to listen. “Today at Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid didn’t show up. There was a new teacher, an old graduate from Hogwarts, he said.” 

She paused and took a sip from her juice. “His name’s Reno Morris. Slytherin. Took a liking to Malfoy right away, and paired people up for some grand project.” 

Her face looked really uneasy. Harry stared until it was obvious she didn’t want to continue. 

“Well? Do you know where Hagrid—” 

Ron hesitated before jumping into the conversation, “Err, Morris paired me up with Goyle… Hermione with Ingrid Moon, the skinny little pervert with big, yellow teeth… what?” he shot at Hermione, who was glaring. Looking back at Harry, Ron added, “And Morris left you with Malfoy.” 

None other than Malfoy. Harry felt butterflies in his stomach, and wondered if it was supposed to be a good feeling. When was the next lesson? Tomorrow. He rolled his eyes. “Takes on after Snape eh? What else is new?” 

“Well,” Hermione pondered, “The thing is, we think Malfoy requested for you…” His recent encounter with the silver-eyed lad came thundering into Harry’s head. His heart was certainly beating faster. 

The-Boy-Who-Lived mock-toasted his drink to the Slytherin table. “It’s settled then, he’s sending some Skrewts my way… But I can always unleash a few good Nifflers at him… But wait, what happened to Hagrid?” 

Harry understood the unspoken agreement: if there was no answer, then Hagrid was doing something for the Order. And since missions had become habitual, he was accustomed to them and didn’t ask any more. He knew his inquiries wouldn’t lead anywhere anyway. 

“Err, try the chicken.” Hermione suggested to Neville, who was picking at his cabbages. 

Harry caught Hermione’s eye and smiled. Ron grinned up at him apologetically, “Sorry mate, looks like your stuck with Malfoy for a long time.” 

Actually, Harry didn’t find the outlook all too bad. “Oh well, welcome to my life.” 

\--- 

That night, as Harry climbed into bed, he noticed four envelopes neatly tucked in the folds of his blanket. He usually never got Evening Post, but tonight he had received four! Harry skirted to where they lain and began with the largest, which had nothing but a stamp of a hippogriff. Harry understood this to be Hagrid’s. He opened the letter. The parchment began glowing in his hand, signifying it had been charmed specifically for him. 

_Dear Harry,_

Before you go barging into Dumbledore’s office looking for me, I’ll just write to tell you I’m doing great. I’m on a cold vacation and enjoying it immensely with love and friends. Maybe some time you’ll be able to meet up with them too. 

Harry, I wrote here to warn you about your substitute teacher. I didn’t like him when I first saw him, and even less when he kept asking about you. But Dumbledore hired him, and if he’s got a reason to trust that old twat, then so be it. But think on your feet. 

Much love, 

Hagrid 

p.s. No need to worry about Grawp either; he’s well taken care of. 

Grawp? Harry wondered who would be so keen on taking care of a full giant toddler, but Harry left that mystery unchecked. From the looks of Hagrid’s letter, and with Harry’s sharp knack at reading-between-the-lines, Hagrid was back in the mountains with Olympia and some trustworthy giants. It seems as if Dumbledore was still trying to recruit them, and with Hagrid’s wording of ‘ _maybe some time you’ll be able to meet up with them too_ ’, it was hopeful prospect. 

_Well, good for that_ , Harry thought as he picked up his next letter. This one had ‘Harry Potter’ at the top with the fine cursive of Dumbledore’s handwriting. Harry carefully opened the envelope and stared at the smooth parchment. It read: 

_Hello, Harry._

In a couple of weeks we will be having our first Hogsmeade weekend. Although I know you are looking forward to this spectacular event, I would humbly like to ask you to forego it and remain at Hogwarts. I was hoping to have called your attention early enough to save you from Hogsmeade plans. I am truly sorry for this disappointment, Harry, but there are much greater things at stake. I will explain more when we get the chance. 

I would also like to ask if you can keep this a secret. 

Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore 

Harry frowned. He was not infuriated or even slightly angry, but he was quite annoyed at the fact that people were still trying to protect him from the Death Eaters and Voldemort. He hated being shunned away to safety, or because he was still too young. Although he was glad that Dumbledore _had_ given him fair time for the warning, it saddened him to imagine his friends going off to have a good time without him. 

Although, he wasn't childish enough to disregard their point of view. The truth was, a part of him even agreed that he be watched over. Last time he had been too headstrong, and had lost his godfather, Sirius. That could have been avoided, he always told himself, that could have been avoided if I only acted more responsibly. 

Harry was suddenly flooded with remorse. With a sigh, he opened his third letter, which was relatively small compared to the first two. The handwriting was spidery, and it looked like it had been done without much thought. 

_Mr. Potter,_

Detention for utter stupidity and lack of discipline in the Potions laboratory. Mondays-Wednesdays-Fridays after dinner for two weeks at exactly 7:45 pm. Wait outside the Potions antechamber. 

Now _this_ infuriated him. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, after dinner! It would clash every Quidditch practice he had! Was Snape insane!? 

No. Only cunning. The first game Harry would be playing against was Slytherin. 

He smacked himself on the head. How was he going to wriggle out of this one? He couldn’t change Quidditch practice to Tuesdays and Thursdays, or on weekends because the Quidditch field would already be booked. And he couldn’t possibly persuade Snape to change it to Tuesdays and Thursdays, could he? 

He decided he would ask Ron’s opinion tomorrow. Furious, he ripped open the smallest letter and stared at the small black parchment that floated down to his bed. 

_Harry Potter_

You are hereby invited to the Slytherin Party on Thursday at 8. Feel free to bring hard drinks and smokes as you please. This is a strictly invitational party, so don’t go mouthing off to the other little wankers that might be whining to come. As this is invitational, someone from Slytherin has invited you. Assemble at the portrait of Dorian Gray, located down two cellar stairs from the Potions laboratory. Keep this in your pocket for verification. 

P.S. The idiots who don’t *feel* like attending will certainly *feel* a few somethings on their ass when the party’s through. 

There was a small scribble under the fetching silver of the calligraphy. It was signed in pale ink, a hasty “be there” sign. 

Now he stopped fuming. An odd feeling banished the fury, but he couldn’t place it. He was a fissure of mixed emotions. He was mystified. Who would have invited him? He certainly didn’t have many friends from that house. 

He began to feel insecure. Was this some sort of cheap trick? Was the threat at the end of the invitation for real? Why would he go, anyway? He wouldn’t fit in a Slytherin party. Actually, he’d only been to Gryffindor-Quidditch parties, and they only had Buttlebeer there… What on earth would Slytherin parties be like compared to the ones he’d attended? 

Harry shook his head, shoved his letters into his bag and snuggled down to his bed. Who cared? It was still on Thursday, technically two days away! He had to worry about tomorrow, what with detention and Quidditch practice in clash! Curse that Snape for going over schedules! 

Harry quickly wondered if Snape had done it to punish Harry for his lack of restraint. Oh gods, Harry couldn’t bear the fact that he himself had wanted it to continue. He submerged his head onto the pillow, bashed himself mentally for the Gryffindor courage he could have done without. 

The image of Snape's face, wracked with distressed pleasure, kept popping into his head. And then he remembered Malfoy's look of crazed passion. He tried to make sense of these events, replaying each memory in his head, wincing. How could everything have turned topsy-turvy in a day? He still couldn't believe it. Malfoy, and _then_ Snape? 

Oh, he could so easily blame the lust potion for all this, but even if he hid behind that, he _still_ allowed it, and that made him shudder. And what was more horrifying was that he couldn't ignore a small, faint feeling of _smugness_ , tucked deep within him. This was beyond uncharacteristic: was he actually _glad_ he had offered himself up to two of the biggest pricks on the Earth? (Voldemort excluded, thank god) And besides that, both Malfoy and Snape had wanted it! 

As he thought more closely, he realized, with a mortifying flush, that instead of disgusting him (and it ought to!) Harry felt a little giddy inside. Even the thought of giving the Potions Master head was not as revolting as it should have been, and this was disconcerting. 

Another memory flashed: Malfoy, groaning and grinding into him on the floor of the cold dungeons, his silver eyes locked in passion. That strange smile he gave across the table. The deep pounding of Harry’s heart. He reddened. What did it mean? What it did it mean for them? 

Harry groaned. He was so confused! Yet he wasn’t going to ask advice from anyone, that’s for damn, dead sure. 

\--- 

**A/N:** Thanks to all of you here who reviewed my “teaser” chapter. Anyone wanna refer me to any hot stories? Preferably Harry/Draco and Harry/Snape? Just to get me going. 

This chapter is dedicated to Silver, whose chronicles, (which I have read, a few years back) “The Patronius Series,” still enraptures me to this day! Don’t worry, I ain’t a stalker. -shifty eyes- Err, yeah… anyway… Must read her works! Whoosa! 


	3. Wednesdays Can be a Bitch

  
Author's notes: When Harry has to choose between Quidditch and detention, atop further attractions between our two favorite Slytherins, that only darken his mood...  


* * *

**II – Wednesdays Can Be a Bitch**

\--- 

Harry sighed. Today was Wednesday, the _absolutely_ worst day of the week. 

Well, perhaps just today was the worst. It was already Care of Magical Creatures, the last subject, and Harry was still trying to figure out whether he should skive off detention and go to the Quidditch practice, or play it safe and rot in the Potions room... He'd also been avoiding both Malfoy and Snape, which, though tiresome, had proved to lift his spirits even slightly. Still, Harry's problem at this moment was his detention, and he sighed; he hadn’t told Ron about this yet. 

_Ah, well, better get hell over with_ , he thought to himself. 

Harry made his way through the throng of students milling about the open-air classroom. The day had turned red-orange over the western hills; the birthing signs of sunset. Harry distinguished the characteristic fierce red hair blazing over the warm light. He rounded on Ron. 

“Ron, I’ve got a problem.” 

“Everyone’s got ‘em,” Replied Ron snappishly, glancing at Hermione. Harry looked in her direction and realized she had her back to them and was talking enthusiastically with Seamus and Dean. Ron looked thoroughly pissed. 

Harry was used to this situation. It was a normal occurrence to find the couple sniping and tussling at each other about something even as stupid as homework. Sometimes it amused him, at other times it annoyed him. Sadly, it was one of those days when Harry felt the latter. 

“Oh, forget it, then,” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. He knew that talking to Ron now would amount to nothing, so moved away from the redhead just as the new teacher came striding to the front of the students. Harry halted in his tracks. 

Reno Morris was a tall man with a graceful, noble walk. He looked about thirty, with pale, almost bluish skin and extremely unnatural jet-black hair. Harry was amazed at its length— the locks managed to scrape lower than his waist. Reno gave a long, languid smirk, straightening his otherwise immaculate bottle green robes. 

“Good morning yet again, fellow Slytherins, friend Gryffindors,” 

If there was something wrong with Reno’s smile, his voice was even stranger. It was eerily melodic; smooth and crafty like a fluid green snake. Harry imagined Reno slithering along the grass. He knotted his brows, banishing the image in his head as Reno continued, 

“Today we shall pair up and begin the planning stages of our project.” He grinned, staring right at Harry, “Let us begin. Please occupy those benches. A table for a pair, if you please.” 

Harry watched as reluctant partners paired up and set off to the rolling field where stone tables were scattered. He took a seat on the table closest to Hagrid’s hut, and waited nervously for his partner. Glancing at the table next to him, he noticed Parvati glaring daggers at her partner, Zacharias Smith. He was about to say something supportive to her, but was interrupted by a blonde Slytherin staring at him intently. 

“Well, now I see someone’s lowered his standards to commence with us once again.” A lacy bow. Tone mocking. 

“Bugger off, Malfoy. I didn’t choose to be here.” 

Malfoy hesitated, but caught himself gracefully. “A little bitter when you’ve figured you can’t have everything, eh? Let me sit beside you. This bench is whacked.” 

“What? It wasn’t that way before you arrived.” 

“Of course, Potter, whatever you say.” 

Malfoy eased beside Harry confidently, and Harry was feeling a little uncomfortable at their proximity. Harry tried to move away but realized that he was already at the end of the bench. 

“Move over, Malfoy.” He made an attempt to shove him with his shoulder. Malfoy only pressed back, hissing, “You’ve picked the worst seat any pair could have, genius. We’re only sitting on half a bench.” 

“What?” Harry looked over and realized Malfoy was telling the truth. The old bench was deteriorating, half already reduced to rubble, and Malfoy was sitting near his end. Blushing heavily, Harry muttered, “Alright, I’ll just stand.” 

He stood up but before he could move, Malfoy grabbed his hand and pulled him close. The blonde’s breath tickled his ear. 

“What is it, Potter? Are you so frightened to be so close to me? Last I remember, you were enjoying it as much as I.” 

Malfoy let go before Harry could register anything. The Gryffindor stumbled back and toppled to the grass with a little thump. Harry blushed an even darker shade of red as he glared at Malfoy through parted legs. Malfoy sneered at him maliciously, “Yes, you like that position a lot, don’t you?” 

“What’s this, fighting already?” came the strange, beautiful voice. Harry hastily scrambled to his feet, but Malfoy remained imperious as always. Morris patted Harry on the back. 

“Yes, you’re Harry Potter, aren’t you?” Harry nodded mutely as the professor stared into his face. Strangely enough, the man’s gaze did not flicker up to see his scar, as what others would have done, but simply held his eye. Harry stared back evenly, and noticed the man’s pupils. They were the color of gold. 

_Where in the world could you get that?_ Harry wondered, feeling as if they were having a stand-off. Harry glanced behind the professor, noticing the sun tinting the clouds that dared obscured her. They were the same shade as this man’s eyes: golden, bright and enchanting. The older man seemed to have noticed the awkward silence and looked away first. 

He ushered Harry to sit back with Malfoy on the small stone bench and gave them a winning grin. Harry noticed Malfoy was looking a little pissed. 

“The main purpose for dividing you into pairs outside the school house system is so that you’ll be a little less hostile,” Said Morris generously, “And I promise you, with this project, you will have to endure each other a lot.” 

Harry tried to fit himself over with Malfoy, his curiosity like a cat purring into his ear. He suddenly noted Malfoy’s fingers ingenuously brushing against his knee. Unable to do anything without alerting Morris, Harry contented to give a burning glare at the blonde’s direction. Malfoy resolved to seeming innocent. 

“Just what are we going to do, Professor?” Harry asked, sounding annoyed. 

Morris smirked. “Oh, yes of course. Ahem, excuse me.” 

The professor turned, cast a _Sonorous_ charm on himself, and addressed the whole class. 

“Sixth years, hush and listen. As you have noticed, I have paired you off with a different house. This is not of trivial value, but something with greater depth, greater meaning. This concept I am now promulgating is to promote inter-house communication… because it will not do us well to stand so divided amongst ourselves! As sixth years rearing for another round with the Dark Lord, we must understand this!” 

Harry blinked, suddenly remembering the whole picture of the Wizarding world and the battle that was to be fought. It seemed somehow uncanny and uncharacteristic for someone so _Slytherin_ like Reno Morris to be talking about unity against Voldemort. Harry listened as the Professor continued. 

“Our first project will last us the whole year, although we will have other projects besides. This first one is very extensive because it will require routines and observations, and a lot of time. Our project will have each pair nursing, weaning and raising a baby Greekbred Griffin.” 

There a few loud gasps from the students. Harry’s jaw dropped, but when he stole a glance at Malfoy, he seemed undisturbed and bored. So Malfoy knew. He felt a little stupid, but he glanced at Parvati at the other table, who, Harry observed, even had a glow of excitement coating her shock. Well, at least he wasn’t the only clueless duffass. 

Morris smiled and started walking around, looking at each student in the eye. When he drew by Hermione, she shrank back. Harry frowned, but Morris didn’t seem to observe it as he continued voicing out his speech. 

“The mother, Morgana, birthed a litter of twelve, and her sister Manaline also produced a litter of twelve. There are approximately forty sixth years, and as they are paired, there is no problem regarding the amount. In fact, I myself will have to care for four of them on my own.” 

Harry looked around to see everyone’s faces. It was difficult because their location was the farthest from the group, with small shrubs and trees tending to obstruct them. At least he could hear Morris’ voice clearly. “Let us start with our first lecture… A baby griffin is more prone to…” 

“—Would you like that, Harry?” Malfoy whispered into his ear. Harry almost jumped back. Instead, he looked questioningly at Malfoy. 

“Oh don’t you know?” Malfoy faked surprise. “The griffin pup will need to be taken care of, even at night… Rumor has it, professor Morris will be allowing us all to camp in pairs for few evenings during the baby’s weaning stage.” 

Malfoy slid a hand up Harry’s thigh. Harry shoved it off, glancing around nervously. Malfoy had some nerve doing it there. 

“Stop that.” He grit out. 

But Malfoy was leaning closer and closer. Harry noticed that everyone was still enraptured with Morris’ lesson and couldn’t notice a blonde boy whispering very intimately to his most hated rival. Harry imagined himself flailing his arms and screaming ‘help’ at the top of his lungs. 

“Well, if we do camp out together,” said Malfoy, smoothly, “I promise you that I will fuck your brains out till morning.” 

All the blood rushed to Harry’s face, and he felt a winding coil of lust tightening in his lower regions. Malfoy grabbed his thigh again, so firmly that Harry wouldn’t be able to push it off without creating a scene. Malfoy’s fingers played with the fiber of Harry’s trousers, kneading into the warm flesh beneath. Malfoy’s silver eyes were glinting strangely— intense, burning. A pleasant shiver ran down Harry’s spine. 

“Hmm… yes, Harry, I want to fuck you like crazy. I wonder how you’d look under me, screaming my name as I pound into you…” 

His hand slid up higher. Harry sat, biting his lip and trying not to look at the blonde. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry shot, indignant. Malfoy only got bolder. 

“I’d probably never tire of roping you down and raping you; it really is more of my style. Athough, I’m open to suggestions… Hmmm…” he pondered, as if talking to himself, his eyes holding that maddening glow, “I could suck you off and lick you clean, but I’d rather have that from you...” A sinister, yet seductive laugh, “Our griffin’s going to learn early, I’d say…” 

Professor Morris began to stroll towards them, checking on Parvati and Smith who were spouting argumentative bouts. Malfoy’s hands immediately relinquished their hold and the blonde sat upright with his arms on the table and a winning smirk at the red-faced Gryffindor. After reprimanding the other pair, Morris spotted Harry and Malfoy. 

The professor lifted an eyebrow, “I see you took my words to heart. Mr. Malfoy, just what were you talking about?” 

Malfoy grinned and snapped back in one flowing sentence, “Just narrating-and-systematizing-the-procedure-of-sadistic-mutilation-and-the-excruciatingly-slow-extermination-for-someone-who-won’t-do-the-job-right... _sir._ ” He gave a fake salute. 

Morris laughed, but he still looked a little suspicious. “You’re a colorful fellow. But as I do not want to see Harry’s death yet, I would advise you both to learn how to care for your griffin by sharing the book that is under your bench. Study it with your partner carefully.” 

He turned to walk away, but Harry called out, “Professor?” 

Morris turned and looked at Harry questioningly; Harry hesitated only for a moment. “Is the rumor true? Of us camping out for the griffin?” 

Morris looked almost hurt. “Didn’t listen to the lecture? Yes, Harry, it’s true… And Malfoy, next time you deliver the recitation of his agonizing doom, be sure his other ear’s listening in to what I’m saying, okay?” 

Professor Morris left them and came over to where Millicent seemed to be bullying Neville. As he walked off, Harry grabbed the book from under the bench and slammed it on the table. 

“No way am I sleeping with you.” 

“Yes, of course.” Malfoy was staring at the bulge in Harry’s pants. 

“Oh bugger off!” 

\--- 

Harry was distracted as he was walking, what with all the steamy suggestions Malfoy kept murmuring at him over the book _Good-Natured Griffins: Loyal for Life._ His head swirled with all the images the blonde’s words evoked, and he could only grit his teeth in frustration as he walked with a silent Ron and Hermione. Class was over and they had about two free hours before dinner. The trio was heading back to the castle. 

They were passing through the courtyard when it occurred to Harry that he ought to voice out his little predicament bout missing Quidditch practice. But the mood was so tense he couldn’t bring himself to start. 

“Are you two still not talking to each other?” Harry asked either of his two best friends. Neither said a word back. Harry’s frown worsened. 

“Are neither of you talking to me, either?” 

“Of course not, Harry,” Huffed Hermione after a moment. “But if _someone_ would only admit—” 

“Harry, tell her I’m not going to hear it.” Ron interrupted firmly. 

Harry sighed. “Hermione, he’s not going to hear it.” 

Hermione exhaled loudly, exasperated. 

“Well then if he can’t take on the facts,” She grumbled, “then that’s just too bad!” 

She turned and stomped off in a different path, which Harry suspected was the quickest route to the library. Harry and Ron stopped and glanced at each other for a few seconds before Ron burst out. 

“Aww, come on Hermione!” The redhead followed her in the same direction, leaving Harry alone in the middle of the courtyard. 

Harry heaved another sigh. So much for going over his problem. 

Harry wasn’t even sure if there really had been a time when Hermione would dash to the library and he and Ron would just laugh and let her. But it only had to be last summer when his two best friends began excluding him unconsciously. To Harry it was an eternity of mild frustration and solitude. He tried to accustom himself to it, but sometimes it was futile. Was loneliness really the human condition? 

Harry was afraid that he would sound whiney if he pointed this out to his friends, but he was also terrified of losing them both if he didn’t. Would he spoil something as beautiful as love so that he could feel belonged? Would he end up butting into their affairs if he snapped? This confused the hell out of him, and he already had a lot to be perplexed about. 

Harry was still reflecting about this as he passed by a few decorative walls of the courtyard. Cold air began drifting in and out the nooks and crannies of the patio; Harry kept his hands under his arms to receive his own warmth. It was then that a silvery, seductive voice drawled out. 

“And where might my little prey be running off to?” 

Harry closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. 

“Not now, Malfoy, I’m not in the mood.” 

Harry could feel Malfoy advancing from behind. A hand moved up and smoothly circled Harry’s waist. Harry felt something wet and warm, the blonde's tongue, as it discreetly flicked his ear. The blonde licked his ear, “Don’t worry, I can fix that.” 

Harry swung his arm around, trying to hit Malfoy’s smug face. But the blonde caught the fist and deftly pinned it on the nearest brick wall. He shoved at Harry until they were both buried by the tendrils of ivy that hung loosely above them. 

Malfoy was beautiful under the soft warm light that radiated from the windows of the castle. Other than that, the pale skin that was exposed above his collar was smooth and tempting, so tempting Harry wanted to kiss it. Harry distantly wondered where the blonde’s cronies were, but shelved that useless thought aside. He was supposed to be angry. Harry put on an infuriated face. 

“What ruffled your feathers?” Malfoy asked lightly, messing up the Gryffindor’s hair. His voice made Harry certain that the Slytherin didn’t really give a shit. This hurt, although Harry didn’t know why, and neither did he wish to understand why. He was about to shove the blonde off, but when Malfoy leaned in, he lost all track of the resistance he was supposed to put up. Malfoy lips met his in a bruising kiss, and Harry moaned to it, hating himself for responding feverishly. 

_To hell with being angry._

Their kiss was fire. It was a kiss bent out in violence, both frustrated and hungry for it. It was the kiss that not only swept the earth from you, but snatched away the sky and the cold and your whole soul. 

Harry anchored his hands onto Malfoy's waist as the blonde pushed closer.Thighs brushed against thighs as Malfoy's hand snaked its way up Harry's shirt, and Harry let it, leaned in to it. Malfoy gave an appreciative moan, having no objections whatsoever save that Harry was fully clothed. He parted from the kiss as he attempted to undo Harry’s pants, but Harry would have none of it. Frustrated, Malfoy pinned the Gryffindor closer to himself. 

“Come _on_ , Potter,” He growled, trying to force his hand into Harry’s trousers. Harry shoved it away, and trailed kisses and licks down Malfoy’s throat. The Slytherin was not distracted. This time he used both hands and grabbed the waistline. Harry held his wrists firmly. 

“No, Malfoy,” 

“Come on… It’s dark. We’re against the wall and the ivy's covering us. No one’s looking… Let me have a quick fuck…” 

Harry groaned as Malfoy punctuated the sentence with a rough thrust. He shook his head and kissed Malfoy again, the other boy responding earnestly, even sobbing into it, and then slowly brought down his forehead onto Harry’s shoulder. 

“Please,” the blonde begged. He rocked his pelvis against Harry’s; stifled a little moan. 

Harry held Malfoy in his arms, fully aware that he could feel Malfoy’s endowment as hard as iron and that Malfoy could frankly feel his. Harry was burning to feel all of it. He wanted to kiss the blonde everywhere, to lead him down on the floor, to feel the heat dancing between them. He wanted to open his legs and offer himself, and feel Malfoy inside him. And it was so easy to take each others garments off right now. Couldn’t he let go this once and let Malfoy take him? 

But then, what will it amount to? This whole situation had taken him wholly by surprise, was he just supposed to ride the wave? A part of him still detested the prat, so why the hell would he give himself up like that? And what could the blonde possibly offer afterwards? His friendship? His loyalty? His love? Harry doubted any of it, and he knew Malfoy would laugh if he knew these thoughts. But was it really about just getting some? 

“I can’t.” 

They stood in silence for a few minutes, without moving, breathing each other’s scent and passion and arousal. The wind was fresh; rustled the vines around them like a woman arranging her tresses. But they remained still, together yet utterly alone with their thoughts. Harry wondered for a moment what Malfoy was thinking, but didn’t use Legilimency. He was afraid of what he would find. 

After what seemed like hours, Malfoy drew back and looked at him squarely. The blonde had regained his old sneer. There was something glinting in his eyes, a dangerous sort of something, yet Harry couldn't figure it out. 

“Fine… for tonight. In the end I should warn you, I’m getting what I want. So you better ready that hot little ass for me.” 

That stunt seemed calculated, and Harry glowered at him, feeling the situation was quite eerie. Vaguely he remembered that Snape had the same thoughts. 

Malfoy smirked, “Oh and, when you come to the Slytherin party tomorrow, wear something good, or you’ll make a complete fool out of yourself.” Malfoy smirked at Harry’s expression. “You do know how to dress up for a party, right?” 

Leaving the question hanging, Malfoy bent down and kissed Harry gently, his hand on Harry’s cheek. It was a consolation of sorts, Harry wasn’t fooled, yet he was breathless when it was over. 

Then with a wink Malfoy drew back and sauntered on towards the castle. Harry merely glared at his back, trying to burn holes right through the arrogant idiot, but when he leaned against the wall and looked up at the starry sky, he wished that last kiss didn’t end. 

\--- 

As Harry walked into the Gryffindor common room, he wondered whether Hermione and Ron were finally able to sort out their problem. He didn’t find either of them, so they were either still arguing or progressively making love. He felt strangely irritated to realize he was missing up time with them, but tucked that thought deep into his head. He couldn’t do anything, so he might as well not pretend he could. 

Only a few first and fourth years were inside, most of them playing Exploding Snap. A few were waiting for their friends to finish taking their baths. Harry walked over to his favorite chair and plopped down onto it. 

Harry attempted to forget the way he easily melted in Malfoy’s arms. How each single twinkling star somehow had an effect on him, an enchantment that made Malfoy more than he actually was. Should he blame the heavenly bodies, then, for his little make out session with the Slytherin? 

Harry had never thought he'd be such a romantic pansy in his life, and worse off, to be hankering over the most disgusting piece of Slytherin there ever was. Yet by and by he realized that he had always thought the blonde handsome, and exciting, in a way that rivals could only be. He should have seen these feelings coming a long way off, but he had been to stubborn to notice... 

Harry bonked his head on the arm of the couch. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. He shouldn't even be contemplating on this psychotic feelings! 

But Harry couldn’t help it. Last night he was wondering who would give him that Slytherin invitation, and now he felt stupid for not realizing it could only be Malfoy. Harry was agitated about the party, he imagined drinking with Malfoy, speaking casually of how they hated each others guts but were willing to have a shag because of said hatred… he refrained from squirming in his seat. 

Strangely, every time the blonde looked at him Harry felt like running away and hiding, because he was feeling such strange, mixed feelings. He wasn’t proud of these feelings, and in actuality, he was utterly baffled. How was Harry going to bear playing Seeker against him this weekend? 

He inwardly gasped, thoughts flying out the window. There was a more massive force to be reckoned with: Quidditch practice and detention after dinner! Harry played with the idea of moseying up to Snape and casually asking him to revise the schedule, but it was a stupid idea and Harry knew it. Especially after what happened in his quarters. He might as well ask Snape to bite Hannah Abbot’s pink lollipop. 

“Harry! What are you doing sulking over there?” 

Ginny brightened at the sight of him, and hauled the ever so calm Luna Lovegood to where he was sitting, looking quite distant. 

“Hi, Harry,” Luna said pleasantly, staring at the top of Harry’s head. Harry looked at both girls blankly, “Luna knows where the common room is.” 

“Oh posh,” Ginny said, waving her hand, “those second years let the Hufflepuffs come in all the time.” 

“Don’t worry,” Reassured Luna, “I don’t know what the password is. And if asked, I’ll pretend I’m mute.” 

“Err… Ok.” Harry blinked. 

Ginny was laughing, “Yeah, she’s ‘safe’… What’re you thinking about? You look like you were about to bite off all the Slytherins’ heads.” 

It had been just a casual remark, but observing the odd look Harry gave her, she grew serious. “Oh. I was right. It’s about the Bash, isn’t it?” 

“Oh?” Luna turned, her spacey eyes gazing through Ginny. “The party I’m not invited to?” 

Ginny looked at her uneasily, “Err… Keep it down, people might hear.” 

“Ok.” 

“Actually,” Harry muttered, “I was wondering what to do for Quidditch practice—” 

“Sure,” Ginny said skeptically, “Luna, here take a seat.” The redhead sat down herself. “So _are_ you going to the Slytherin party? You do know there’s a hex on the invitation, and that it would be better for you to skimmy through five minutes in that hellhole, at least, right?” 

“How do you know about it?” Harry asked, fascinated. Luna bubbled in her seat, “Oh, Ginny got invited by that Slytherin fifth year, Anthony Smarkins.” 

Ginny made a face, “But I’m heading out after a few minutes. Last time three Slytherins almost puked on me. And Anthony’s bound to get laid with half of whoever’s there anyway— what?” 

Harry was looking at her weirdly. “I never knew about it before… So it’s my first time. I was going to ask you to come with me.” 

“Well, I can escort you for five minutes,” She said, trying to compensate, “But really, I’m just playing chess with Luna afterwards. She’s teaching me.” Luna beamed crazily. 

“Well, if I decide the party’s a bust, can I butt in?” Harry asked Luna, who nodded vigorously. 

“Bring lots of cookie crumbs. My chess-people love them.” 

Harry snorted, “I’ll bring drinks too, in case they don’t trust me. How did you guys know about those Slytherin parties, anyway?” 

Ginny and Luna grinned. The redhead spoke up, “They’re christened ‘Butthead Bashes’, since people are such idiots, bringing hard drinks and drugs and almost always getting wasted, even if they could easily be caught by Snape. Don’t think Snape cares much, though, there’s never been a party that was caught before.” 

At the mention of Snape his crisis flooded back to Harry, but in one single heartbeat, everything cleared. Who cared about some ruddy detention? He’d been waiting for Quidditch practice! 

He shot from his chair. “Wait, I forgot. We better eat dinner early. We’ve got Quidditch practice, Gin. See ya Luna,” He dashed upstairs to retrieve his Maroon Quidditch robes, bag and broom, then sprinted to the common room door. 

“I’ll be off ahead!” 

“Wait Harry!” 

Harry halted and turned. He realized they were the only ones in the room now. 

“What are you wearing to the party?” Luna asked innocently. 

Harry blinked. He hadn’t really thought about it before. “Err. Maybe I’ll wear jeans and a sweater. And my robe. It’s probably chilly in the Slytherin room… what?” 

Ginny and Luna were sharing a significant and uneasy glance. They stood up and ushered him out. 

“That’s not how you should go on about it.” Ginny said quietly as they began to walk downstairs. “Didn’t your Slytherin tell you anything?” 

Harry blushed at Ginny’s words. _Your Slytherin…_

“Err… told me I better look good?” 

Ginny hit her forehead. “What a typical Slytherin duffass. Look, Luna and I will help you out, ok? Trust us.” 

Harry didn’t think a dress code was too important. He told them so. 

“Oh no,” Luna replied, looking very serious, “It’s one of the most important components in a Bash.” She began nodding serenely, all the way down to the Great Hall. Harry shrugged. 

\--- 

The Boy-Who-Lived hid his Quidditch things behind the statue of the Norwegian King-Wizard Uzbek. He didn’t want to sneak upstairs after dinner and hope Snape wouldn’t catch him heading for the Quidditch field. 

He hurried along with Ginny and Luna to the Great Hall. Eyes were glued to them questioningly, but Harry and the girls shrugged it off with ease, talking amongst themselves. Harry sat down facing the Slytherins, and noticed Malfoy’s cold narrow eyes set on him. The Gryffindor ignored him, dignified. He was also careful to keep his Occlumency shields up all throughout dinnertime though, in case Snape dropped in to check if Harry was attending detention. He avoided Snape’s eyes and ate guiltily. 

Ron and Hermione seemed to have come on an unspoken agreement to speak civilly and even pleasantly. Harry was amused, but not thoroughly surprised, for this happened often. Harry was almost ready to divulge his problem with his schedules, but decided against it; Hermione would be aghast about missing detention, and Ron would be equally aghast about missing Quidditch practice-- there was no way he would allow himself to spoil the peaceful mood. Besides, he had already made his mind to ditch detention, hadn’t he? 

Harry finished his roast chicken and beans, fetched his things and met up with Ron in the Quidditch field. The night was cool and moist, and Harry could not help but gaze up at the stars. He grinned like a moron as he remembered they were the only witnesses to his encounter with Malfoy. 

Harry flew like never before. It was as if those stars approved of him, lending him power and courage as he tumbled easily in and out of the clouds. The others did spectacularly as well, as they tried to match their Seeker’s excellence. 

Katie, Ron and Harry were the only remnants of the older Quidditch team. Angelina and Alicia had graduated, Fred and George were gone, and some of last year’s players had been replaced. The new athletes were Ginny, Seamus, a seventh year named Sarah Plath and a fourth year called Bill Flannings. Harry was the captain, and Ron was his second in command. 

His team was not the best, but they were alight with fire-- spirited with enthusiasm and determination. Ron was doubly into the tactical aspects of the game, while Harry was more supportive and instructional. They let Ginny be the spokesperson most of the time, since she was the most commanding. Harry could hear them now. 

“Sarah, you don’t need a dive to catch a Quaffle,” Said Ginny authoritatively, “You’ve got lots of talent passing it off. And Seamus would you stop playing with your bat, you almost got her killed with that Bludger!” 

Harry smiled as he hovered above the game. Sarah made a strong pass over to Katie who shot it towards one of the goals. Immediately, Ron zoomed in and kicked it away. Ginny caught the Quaffle with a hand and tossed it back to Seamus. 

“Wow! Nice moves!” Ginny shouted as she dodged a whirring Bludger. 

It was getting late, and Harry could see the team was getting tired. He scanned the whole area with more intensity, but instead of finding a small golden nugget half hidden in the darkness, he caught Professor Severus Snape’s eye. 

Snape was leaning against a Quidditch audience stand, and was glaring at him with his arms folded. He looked deadly. 

_Oh— shit oh shit oh shit oh shit…_ Harry thought to himself as he glanced the other way. In his panic, he suddenly spotted the Snitch and made a mad dive, cutting across the game with a whoosh. 

“Gah!” Sarah cried as she dodged Harry and back-flipped in the air. Ginny’s voice sounded more shocked than reprimanding, “Harry!” 

Harry couldn’t hear her from the whirring of the wind as he caught up with the Golden Snitch. His Seeker’s reflexes shot out and he clasped the gold nugget firmly in his hand. He then swerved his broom upwards as he met up with the rest of the team. 

“Ok, sorry about that, but it’s eight-forty and we really need to get going. Assemble at the locker rooms!” 

With that, Harry zoomed around the field, collecting the balls with extraordinary speed and fled to the changing rooms. 

“What’s up with him?” Ginny asked, landing gracefully on the grass, “He’s scuttling like its Valentine’s Day all over again.” 

\--- 

Harry was calming his nerves by rattling on about the practice. “Ron, your getting better at Keeping, but if only you could remain like that against the Slytherins with their foul mouths. And Sarah, you keep using your beautiful flying tricks, but it’s hardly necessary. Try limiting it to diversions.” 

Katie piped in, “Don’t dive into us again, Harry, I nearly lost the Quaffle.” 

“I nearly lost my broom,” Teased Sarah. Harry blushed. “I told you, I’m sorry about that. I was just really… into it… Err… Well, Ron? Any suggestions?” 

Ron was stretching, “How ‘bout we head back to the castle for a bath?” 

“Best idea yet!” Declared Katie, who began charging at the door. The others filed out, talking amongst themselves. Harry figured he’d stay and bathe where he was, to avoid Snape if he was still lurking outside. 

He moved towards the stalls. 

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked him. 

“Merlin!” Harry jumped, “don’t you know how to wear squeaky sneakers properly!?” 

Ron shook his head and took a seat. He was looking serious, “There’s something up with you. You’ve been so distracted today. What was that problem you were talking about earlier? And what’s with scurrying to the locker rooms right after practice?” 

Harry sighed and sat beside Ron. He explained his detention with Snape and how he chucked it for Quidditch practice. He also described how Snape was glaring at him from the Quidditch stands. 

“You _what_!?” 

“Yup.” 

“He’s definitely after your blood then!” Ron exclaimed. Harry grinned. 

“Ron, look. Can you go over to the castle and tell McGonagall about the unfair schedule? I’m sure she could revise even a bit. And tell her I forgot about the whole thing today...” 

Ron stood but looked at Harry blankly. “You’re not coming?” 

“I think I’ll cower in here for a bit. I’ll come back upstairs after I have my shower.” 

“Talk about Gryffindor bravery.” Ron rolled his eyes, grinned and left. Harry laughed and made his way to his favorite shower stall. 

The shower refreshed his thoughts so dynamically that when he came out of it, he felt energized and ready for any encounter with Snape, or Malfoy or even Voldemort. He dried his hair roughly with his towel and arranged it on his waist. As he was leaning down to retrieve his spare clothes, the locker room door opened. 

“Cutting detention is not unlike cutting classes, Mr. Potter, and it will only accumulate more at your expense.” 

All courage drained out of him at the sound of that cold, indifferent voice. Harry was winded as he stared blankly at Professor Snape. 

“Professor, I’m changing.” 

“I’ve got eyes, Mr. Potter,” Snape’s eyes swept through Harry’s form, taking in the sinewy muscles and smooth tan skin. Harry felt very uneasy with the loose towel that seemed to be way lower than he would have liked. Not that Snape was complaining. The Potions Master locked the door with his wand. “Professor…” 

Snape strode up to him. Harry noticed that despite his height, Snape was still able to tower a few inches. The Professor looked livid. 

“Did you and those girls enjoy yourselves before dinner?” He hissed, rubbing Harry’s wet hair brusquely. Harry ducked from his touch. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you keep this up I’ll…” Harry moved a step back, thinking for a moment. “…report you to Dumbledore.” 

“Yes Potter,” Snape replied, silkily, “I’m sure he’d be delighted to know how you pounced on my lap and sucked my cock.” 

Harry immediately turned red. His eyes darted towards the door, and he debated with himself for a moment. Even if he grabbed his wand, unlocked the door and ran outside, he’d still be practically naked. _Shit_. 

Snape smirked. “I wouldn’t object to see you naked. In fact I crave for it everyday.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Harry snapped back, his thoughts scattered at Snape’s aggressive words. “And stop peering into my head, it’s not proper.” 

“Like you didn’t?” 

“That was for self defense.” 

“The hell it was.” Snape growled, as he shoved Harry onto the shower stall door, keeping him there with a hand on his bare chest and aiming his wand at him with the other. 

“Missing detention has earned you another five,” He whispered, “You are attending detention on Friday, and you are _never_ going to be alone with those girls or that swine Draco Malfoy again. Do you hear me?” 

“Suddenly keen in keeping my virginity intact, are you?” Harry replied scathingly. Snape glowered at him, his teeth bared. 

“I hope you aren’t as thoughtless as you look, Mr. Potter, but the way I see it, you belong to _me_.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Then why didn’t you just get over with it last time?” 

For a moment, Snape hesitated to reply. “Rest assured, I regret my hesitation, but given the circumstance you can admit that this would be quite awkward.” 

Harry scoffed, “Why are you claiming me, then, _professor_? And why now, of all times?” 

Suddenly, Snape's hand pinned the Gryffindor more tightly, and Harry felt the tiniest sliver of fear as he watched the Death Eater's eyes turn solid with anger. Snape's voice was harsh steel. 

“Do not think for a moment that I did not witness you slobber over Mr. Malfoy. Never in my life will I forgive myself for handing you over, and you can be quite assured that I will never do such a thing again. As it is, that incident has forced me to move and take what I have long sought. I no longer care about you being a student-- I will have you somehow, somewhere and soon.” 

Snape slowly moved away and turned, glancing sideways at Harry’s soiled Quidditch robes. Harry’s flesh tingled from where Snape’s hand had been, and he noticed how empty the room was, how utterly alone and bordered up they were; how inappropriately private. 

“You mean like right now?” Harry asked warily. He inwardly winced at his slightly husky tone, and that he was hard beneath the towel, but he decided to fight Snape off if he had to. The Gryffindor wanted to keep some form of his dignity, after all. Snape chuckled darkly. 

“Much to your grand disappointment, Mr. Potter, we have an appointment with the Headmaster. Get dressed before I dress you myself.” 

Harry wondered what Dumbledore would think if Harry told him what Snape had just offered. He glowered at Snape’s back as the professor began reading the numerous graffiti on the walls. Harry hoped he read what Fred and George wrote about him there, but wasted no time keeping idle. _Fuck the underwear_ , he thought as he grabbed his clean trousers and pulled them on as quickly as he could. 

He noticed Snape watching him as he pulled into a white shirt, but was determined to ignore him even as his cheeks burned red in embarrassment. He only took a moment to slip into his robe before he whisked and things and left Snape without a word, stomping childishly as he did so. 

He lost the older man midway to the headmaster’s office, and he was quite proud of it. He continued stomping onward. Perhaps if he continued the act of teenage delinquent, Snape would stop pestering him. 

_Not that you didn’t enjoy it,_ came Harry’s voice from inside his own head. 

He grumbled to himself right before he came face to face with a worried Katie Bell as he rounded on the corner. 

“Harry! Did you see a ring in your locker room?” She was very distressed, and seemed to be on the brink of tears. Harry looked at her concernedly, “I didn’t notice. You lost yours?” 

“Oh yes! It was my great grandmother’s—a family heirloom with the Bell crest. I just inherited it last Thursday for my birthday! I didn't find it in the girl's locker rooms, so I thought I left it back in the dorms, but they aren't there!” 

Harry stood for a moment, wondering how on earth a girl's heirloom would end up in the boy's locker, but realized she was desperate enough to try. 

“It’s alright, Katie.” He soothed, patting her head. She sniffed back a sob and crashed into him, hugging him fiercely. Feeling a bit perturbed, he glanced back and noticed Snape’s advancing form. Harry suddenly had an idea. He pulled her away gently. 

“Katie, if you can’t find it in the locker room, try the field. You know how to use the Accio charm, don’t you?” Katie nodded, and her face lit up. 

“You’re right.” She sniffed. 

Harry felt Snape’s anger, but ignored his feeling of panic. He smiled warmly at Katie. “Well then, hurry up! It’s almost curfew!” 

Katie smacked him on the lips with a friendly kiss. “Thanks!” 

She dashed off, but Harry heard her feet falter for a second time. “Oh hi, professor,” he heard her say, a little abashed; Harry wasted no time and began quickening his pace. 

Harry felt Snape trying to catch up with him, and shivered when he felt the Potion Master’s magical aura crackling through the corridor. Harry pulled out his wand and turned to Snape, but Snape was one step ahead of him. 

“Expelliarmus!” 

Harry’s wand shot from his hand to Snape’s waiting palm. But Snape was also charging towards him, and Harry registered it too late. He was shoved into an empty classroom and against the board. Snape pointed his wand at the door for a second and it closed and locked behind them. 

“You’re quick,” Harry panted. 

Snape had flames in his eyes, “I thought I told you not to go near anyone. Are you deaf? Must I exert my ownership of you?” 

This infuriated Harry. Was he an object to be owned? He gathered his strength to push Snape off but the end of two wands poked threateningly near his face. With his free hand, Snape thrust into the boy's trousers, and Harry gasped. 

Harry felt Snape’s powerful hand immediately stroking his hard member, coaxing it forcefully to respond, and being a rather hormonal sixteen year old, it wasn't much of a problem. In a moment the lust was so powerful Harry began to tear. He was afraid of what Snape would do if he tried to resist, so kept them flat against the wall. Snape made a low growling noise with the back of his throat, but Harry was too far out to notice. The Gryffindor leaned his head back, exposing his neck which Snape claimed with his mouth. 

Harry’s hands came to rest on his Potions Master’s shoulders, but his whole world was spinning. Snape pumped harder and quicker and Harry was racing up to the heavens. He hated himself for being so close to his peak already, but Snape was going too fast. 

He gasped, surprised at his utter lack of control, and shuddered as he came in Snape’s hand. His knees buckled and he slid onto the floor, sweating and panting heavily. 

Snape knelt on him, straddling, and he was smirking so patronizingly that Harry couldn’t bear it. He moved his head to the side. Snape seized the opportunity and leaned in, licking the outline of the Griffindor’s jaw. Suddenly, he bit down on the small sensitive flesh under the ear, giving the Gryffindor a smarting hickey. Then the Potions Master muttered a quick, efficient cleaning spell on them both and stood up. 

“Now you should know better than going near anyone else.” Snape said lowly. 

Harry’s head was still recuperating from his shattering orgasm that he was a little puddle-minded. He mentally berated himself for his rushing hormones, and felt guilty and embarrassed and shamed. Emotions took him by surprise. 

He stared down at the floor. He’d just been handled and touched for these past two days and already he felt like an object to be played with. It was not a nice feeling; it was bitter and hollow and sad. 

He glared up at Snape, and mustered all the negative feelings he could and shouted out, “You don’t own me!” 

His voice echoed eerily through the empty classroom. Snape merely chuckled. 

“Yes, Potter, I do.” 

To be dismissed so casually with his anger and his hurt made him feel even more miserable. And Snape didn’t care, did he? The Potions Master simply left the classroom, leaving Harry disheveled and upset on the floor. 

What was he, to Severus Snape? 

Moments after staring blankly at the empty tables and chairs, Harry Potter collected himself and strode staunchly to the headmaster’s office. He held his head high, acting stronger than he actually felt. 

He was, after all, accustomed to doing just that. 

\--- 

A/N: You might think Harry’s a a player, but really, put yourself in his shoes. I wouldn’t resist either Slytherin… hahaha. I don’t really know where this story’s headed, but it’s got a broader scope now then what I intended. I hope you bear the un-slashy scenes about Reno and Quidditch and etc. etc. etc. It’s all part of it. If you can’t be patient enough, give me suggestions! 

Dedicated to my ex-boyfriend, Hugh Morris, who once helped me write my best as I was devastated by his abandonment. I am dedicating this to him because 1.) He’s still not talking to me, 2.) We’ll never see each other again after this year and 3.) He hates gay fiction. 

Note: Okay, I _have_ seen him after this year, and we’re friends, but I didn’t feel like changing the dedication. 


	4. The Lion's Revenge

  
Author's notes: Harry is challenged, and struggles to regain control over the confusion upon him. Will Harry accept the Slytherin party? What is Malfoy up to?  


* * *

**III – The Lion’s Revenge**

**A/N:** Prior chapters have been edited. Check them out first, please. :D 

\--- 

The headmaster’s office was smaller, yet still warmly familiar. Even the portraits hanging on the walls were still quite as sleepy-looking as Harry remembered. In fact, Harry recognized many things: the Sorting Hat, sitting solemnly on the three legged stool; the closet, which hid Dumbledore’s pensieve; Fawkes’ perch rod, with the phoenix nowhere to be found; and the enthralling silver gadgets tick-tock-ing the moments away. 

Harry entered with a glum air and sat down on one snug-looking chair. Snape was beside him, and Dumbledore in front. He smiled tentatively at his Headmaster from across the desk. The old man glanced at him curiously. 

“You’re looking quite peaky, Harry,” 

“Rough day,” said Harry, referring mainly to Snape in his head. Snape turned away. 

“Ah,” Replied Dumbledore, looking rueful, “I’m sorry if I’ve called you in so late, but we mustn’t let many know we have such private meetings. Not to worry, I shall try not to babble on all night… Sugar sock?” 

The headmaster pointed to the table that was set in front of them. A few thick socks were piled on a large, porcelain platter. Three small silver forks poked out of the plate, facing each of them. 

“Err… okay,” said Harry. 

Harry stared. He knew it was a magical treat, but he could not help wondering why anyone would even _consider_ making something look like a moldy sock. Nevertheless, he nibbled a little, almost not noticing a little icing dribbling down his neck. Snape glared at him for his apparent lack of table manners, but Harry shrugged it off and continued. The sugar sock was quite delightful; a texture of sweetness and bliss. Dumbledore turned to his other guest. 

“And you Snape?” 

“I’ve brushed my teeth,” Snape replied wryly. 

“Oh,” Dumbledore looked pleasantly astonished, “In a good mood, are you?” He chuckled, “Well, that is simply delightful.” At the stricken look on Snape’s face, Dumbledore turned to Harry, “Now, now, on to business. Harry, would you mind taking a look at this?” 

Dumbledore reached down to the coffee table and handed Harry a sheet of pink paper. Harry put his fork down, wiped his fingers on his trousers (Snape was sneering) and took the parchment. 

It took only a moment for Harry to browse it over. 

“These are Auror prerequisites.” Harry noted, staring at the long list of offensive and defensive arts. 

“Indeed they are,” replied Dumbledore, pleased that Harry was being quite keen. “I assume then that you’re going to like your training.” 

“Training?” 

“Yes, training, extra training,” the old wizard nodded his head, “to hone your magic, as well as your healing mantras and physical dexterity.” 

Harry’s eyes grew wide like saucers. A wave of youthful excitement washed through him. His eyes almost sparkled. “You mean, like a real Auror camp?” 

“Yes, well, except it will be in the wards of Hogwarts, of course. Aside from that, you will be continuing your various complicated studies, like your Occlumency and Legilimency.” 

“With you?” piped Harry, hopefully. 

“Uhm, well no. I will only be training you in your defensive and healing charms. Professor Snape will continue as your tutor for Occlumency and Legilimency.” 

Harry’s face fell a little, and he glanced at the Potions Professor. Snape remained stoic, although it looked like his facial muscles were a little rigid. The Slytherin glared back, as if daring him to ask a question in his direction. Harry faced Dumbledore, a little annoyed. 

“And for my Auror training?” Harry asked, trying to keep a neutral tone. Please not Snape. Please not Snape. Please not Snape. 

“That will be Professor Morris’ job.” 

Harry’s mouth opened wide, all testiness vanished. “Professor Morris!” 

“Yes indeed, Harry.” Dumbledore reached down and whipped out an old picture from the bowels of his desk. He handed it to Harry and the Gryffindor leaned in to look. There were a dozen imposing old wizards standing in a line, smiling. Dumbledore, with only a small beard, was waving enthusiastically at Harry, and Reno Morris was at his side, looking like a haughty teenager, a wizard definitely younger than the rest. He was grinning a sly grin. 

“He had been one of the best wizards of his time, I assure,” Dumbledore continued, “This picture was for the celebration of Magical geniuses, although I just happened to be intruding.” He gave a little laugh, “Your schedule is on the other side, so you can keep the shot to add to your album. The one on your right is your grandfather... James’ father.” 

Harry gazed at the adorable portly old man, the shortest; who was smiling brightly at him with large blue eyes. He winked and toddled off to the side and out of the picture, coming back a moment later holding a sugar quill. He pointed at it happily, and tried to offer Harry one. 

Harry felt a pang of longing as the plump wizard kept beaming, now doing a jolly dance around the rest of the wizards with Dumbledore. 

It was a sad feeling, to be hungering for more information. But if Harry’s mind was filled with sad things, it was filled with even more unanswered questions. When was this, and what sort of convention was it? What was his grandfather’s contribution? Were there more pictures? Were his parents together yet? 

He didn’t want to sound like a whiny little brat, and even in his head the questions sounded stupid and immature. Harry ignored his emotions and turned the shot to its back, reading the scribbles that were placed on a table. 

A raised eyebrow. “Wow. Busy months ahead.” 

Dumbledore chuckled, “You sound more resolved than frustrated. Or is that your exhaustion talking?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Well then, there is this one more thing…” Dumbledore nodded at the Potion Master’s direction, addressing them both, “Professor Snape here has told me of the little incident concerning your aphrodisiac.” 

Harry put the picture down and turned red. He swore he felt his heart skip a beat. Did Snape really tell the Headmaster what happened in his chambers? Harry resisted the urge to glance at his professor. Instead he stared down at the little ridges of the desk. 

“I, I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know, Harry.” Dumbledore gently replied, “You simply lost control of your magic, thus exploding the bottle. It is a mistake many wizards make, and especially youngsters… But, it seems your body has a curious response to aphrodisiacs. We believe there is a possibility for these potions to make you stronger, permanently, like how that recent one resolved your eyesight.” 

“Oh…” A breath Harry hadn’t known he was holding came out. So he was talking about the incident in the Potions lab, _not_ in Snape’s rooms. The Gryffindor shrugged. “I didn’t think of it much that way.” 

“But don’t you see, Harry? This may be an advantage for the war effort. I have given Severus permission to brew you another set of aphrodisiacs, the first few to test our theories. If our theories are correct, then we will make you more aphrodisiacs to improve you to the best of your talents.” 

_What? They’re **giving** me aphrodisiacs?_ Harry fidgeted in his seat and looked disbelieving. The thought of being overly-horny with the headmaster and the Potions professor knowing about it wasn’t really a prospect to behold. 

“Err… You’re sure there are going to be no… other side effects?” Harry was blushing. 

Dumbledore chuckled again. His blue eyes seemed to be brighter tonight. “Well, we’ll try to reduce the lustful elements, but those can be… easily remedied.” He paused and a small tension began to form in the room. Dumbledore seemed oblivious, pondering for a moment, before adding, “And you may have other physical attributes.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, trying to dissuade the feeling of apprehension beginning to form in his stomach. He could imagine himself growing a tail. 

“Oh they are relatively harmless changes,” Said Dumbledore airily, “even quite fetching. Some people who take aphrodisiacs simply aim to look good, so you may be experiencing some of those bonuses. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.” 

Harry did mind. What if students noticed this and realized he took aphrodisiacs regularly? It would make Harry seem as vain as Malfoy, or someone who hankered on more attention. And he wouldn’t be able to explain, since this was a secret arsenal against Voldemort… 

And yet, if it helped him become stronger, if, in the end, it helped him save lives… than he shouldn’t be thinking of selfish reasons like his reputation… Harry reddened even more, but decided he’d pick the war effort over his stupid teenage insecurity. 

“Oh… Its okay, I guess— as long as… you know… it will help me become stronger…” 

An uneasy silence fell once more. Harry decided he didn’t like it, so asked, “When do I begin training?” 

“As soon as your Quidditch match is over, Harry. The schedule can differ, because you’re having very confusing weeks ahead of you. I’ll be sending you the changes often through your evening post, if that is alright with you, of course.” Dumbledore looked at him, waiting for an answer. Harry shrugged. 

“At least I’ll finally be able to read letters by candlelight.” 

\--- 

It was in the dead of night when they were released from Dumbledore’s office. 

The moon was watching them from her stationary post out the window. Harry observed tufts of black clouds swirl past the pale blue face, creating shadows within the eerie corridors as they walked by. Harry was brisk, hoping against hope that he would not have any searing encounter with his companion, Snape. 

Apparently, the other man thought otherwise. 

“Come here, Potter.” 

Harry kept on walking. 

“Potter, do you really wish to leave your wand with me?” 

Harry halted, considering for a moment. There was a lone waft of air that journeyed into the hallway, which stood empty and challenging; Harry could feel a mad, silent tension rubbing furiously with the space between them. He turned to stare at the Potions Master, eyes expressive, but stance guarded. 

He held out his hand. 

“My wand, then, professor.” 

Snape’s eyes held the same, scheming look as before. Harry was a little afraid, for he could not understand what was going on inside the Slytherin’s head. For a second, Harry considered that the Death Eater could kill him. 

Snape began walking forward, but Harry jumped back, looking wary and agitated. “My wand, please,” He asked again. His voice did not quiver. 

“Oh come now,” Hissed Snape, “Don’t be mad at me for something you wanted me to do.” 

“I didn’t want you to do anything,” snarled Harry, “Please, my wand!” 

“No, Potter,” the Potions Master whispered, venturing a step closer. “I haven’t gotten enough of you yet…” 

Snape’s eyes were clouded, mixed emotions falling and rising in his aura. His stare sent shivers down Harry’s spine, voice low and husky; it was almost a growl. 

But Harry would have none of that. His anger fueled his courage. A memory of their last encounter was like a fresh bruise, ripe for vengeance. He would not be made into a plaything! 

The Gryffindor took a quick step forward and reached out meaningfully to his wand. “Accio wand!” 

A surge of power down the corridor. Tension was thick in the air. 

Harry was quick, but Snape had Death Eater reflexes. Not another moment passed before the older man bellowed, “Obscura! Propelus!” 

Harry’s spell was instantly disrupted and it took only another moment before the next hex blasted the Gryffindor backward. Harry toppled, sliding against the ground. He immediately tried to scramble to his feet, but before he could stand, there was already a wand arresting him on his chin. 

“You’ve still got a lot to learn, Potter,” Snape sneered down at him coldly, “Keep in mind that the most important of all is that Slytherins _always_ get what they want.” 

A thin finger traced Harry’s soft, puckered lip. They stared at each other, and a choking, burning emotion wrapped around Harry’s heart as he looked away. _Hurt pride_ , that’s what it was, Harry thought shamefully. When you think you are such a man when you’re just a fool. 

Snape tossed the Gryffindor’s wand to his lap. Harry snatched it up and glared at the towering figure. The professor was so patronizing, especially with that smirk, that Harry wanted to chop his head off. It was a Death Eater stance, Harry noted. A stance to tell you how inferior you are. 

Mocking. _Look how I can dominate you_ , said the stance. _Look how I can make you tremble._

For the moment, Harry could feel himself trembling. But it was not in fear, it was more in pure, red rage. He was a wounded lion; a lion bursting with potential but championed too soon. 

Harry couldn’t take it. He fled. 

\--- 

“Jesus, Harry, you’re looking gorgeous.” 

Harry ignored Lavender’s comment as he made his way to the Potions Lab the next morning, thirty minutes late. Hermione and Ron, from the other table, gaped at him. One quick glance at the room told him the whole class was staring. 

“Wow.” Breathed Dean, from behind, “Had a good night’s sleep, did we?” 

Seamus gave a low wolf whistle. 

Harry smiled nervously, trying his best not to divulge the fact that he hadn’t slept until the wee hours in the morning. He’d been too preoccupied mulling over the events that were quickly taking over the wheel in his life. Malfoy, Snape, Voldemort, aphrodisiacs, camping, training, parties, Quidditch… who could blame him for tossing and turning, and in the end, waking up late? 

Harry plopped down next to his partner the Irish. 

Seamus was just ogling him, apparently trying to figure out what made Harry look so different. Indeed, Harry couldn’t understand it himself. He’d woken up to a dreadfully late morning, where he hadn’t any time to shower, have breakfast or even brush his teeth properly. He felt horrible. And yet after glancing at his reflection, he did a double-take. He looked terrific! 

It seemed as if the potion’s effects were still circulating in his system. 

His eyes were different; they seemed more exotically green, and his skin was creamy and blatantly flawless. His hair, he had noticed, had seemed softer, and even stylish in its tousled manner, like he had just gotten out of a love-bed. He quite liked the change, actually. 

Though he’d _never_ been so narcissistic in all his life. _Goddamn aphrodisiac._

“If our moment is over with the scrutiny of Mr. Potter,” Interjected Snape sharply, so everyone’s attention shifted to him, “we shall now begin the second phase. If your all ready— Longbottom, do try not to snivel like a buffoon, though that may be too much to ask of you. If you please Miss Patil, assist the idiot with the potion— alright, everyone should be preparing the beetles and shrivelfigs.” 

Harry was a little astonished— he’d been waiting for Snape to openly gut him out with humiliation and throw him another dose of detentions for waltzing in late, or distracting the class. But from the looks of things, Snape was even _avoiding_ his glance. How peculiar. 

As Harry set out to work, he mulled over Snape's back-and-forth interaction. First Snape was claiming him as if he was a long-coveted toy, the next instant he hated Harry's guts, and then he would uncharacteristically give up the chance of humiliating him. Harry sighed. It was clear that Snape was conflicted: lusting over a student and the Boy-Who-Lived would no doubt fill him with guilt and shame. From the hints last night, Snape was only acting now because he'd seen Malfoy take advantage of him. Harry wondered how that felt: to want something but decide adamantly against it, then be forced to acquire it anyway. 

It looked as if Snape still had a few inner battles to fight, and Harry felt infuriated that he was in the middle of his professor's phase of self-discovery. He gave another sigh and turned to his partner. 

Seamus was still gaping. Still couldn’t believe how such a fascinatingly gorgeous creature could possibly sit next to him, cutting up some shrivelfigs as he crushed up some beetles. 

Despite his emotional muddle lately, Harry couldn't help but feel a bubble of happy hysteria in his gut, and struggled to keep it intact, if only for the sake of his own dignity. Still, he couldn't help but feel his mood improve with the way Seamus' lips opened and closed stupidly. 

“Keep your drool in your mouth, please,” Harry teased. He didn’t know what was up with him, but he did feel elated with how Seamus were responding. Seamus shook his head; still looking amazed, and then set about work with the beetles. 

Harry decided he liked how Seamus was acting, but a peculiar prickle at the back of his neck made him turn around. 

Apparently, it made him flash a godly image of his profile to the unsuspecting Malfoy, who, if beforehand was glaring imaginary holes into Potter’s back, was now growing red-faced as the two enemies stared. Harry acted first. He smiled. 

It was a haughty sort of smile, meant solely to annoy and bewilder. Harry decided it was effective, up until the blonde’s expression changed. Malfoy’s grey eyes unfocused, and a mysterious sneer made its way onto thin lips. Harry was puzzled, and quickly decided to take a peak into the Slytherin’s mind. 

Hot white lust surged onto his groin as steamy images flashed. _Malfoy was above him, pounding furiously into him; and he was screaming in delight; in passion; in ecstasy. He arched off the silken bed, and Malfoy swooped down to trail bites and kisses on his neck. Harry felt the thick shaft within him slide further, pounded in; invaded again. Bright colors burst into his sight; tendrils of orgasms stretched deep into his body. Oh gods the sweet flavor! The colors! The nakedness and tears._

Harry gasped; and presently looked away, afraid of what he had seen. Then he got doubly irritated. Malfoy was a real pervert, from the looks of it, yet Harry couldn’t shake off the lusty feelings stirring within him. Had he enjoyed the scene so much? 

“Mr. Potter, fascinating as those shrivelfigs may seem, they undoubtedly need to be sliced.” 

Snape’s mocking voice was a hook pulling him back to the activity at hand. He stared at the Potions Master; the older man was wearing his very usual scowl, but the professor wasn't looking at him, and was merely passing the front of their table. 

But Harry hadn’t had time to feel awkward about him, no; it was time for _revenge._ Last night that man was the victor, but it was time to turn the tables. 

He flashed the professor a winning grin, “But I am already done, sir.” 

Startled by that optimistic retort, Snape glanced in his direction, and Harry reiterated his point by he scooping up the sliced shrivelfigs, leaning over Seamus a little too casually, and sprinkling the load into their potion. Harry made sure he was breathing warm breath into Seamus’ ear, and was delighted to find Seamus blushing heavily. He glanced up at his professor as he did this, and winked. 

Snape suddenly looked murderous; so murderous Harry thought he would burst up in flames. But Snape was a cool, controlled man; a man bent on handling himself with an iron fist. He simply looked away and began docking points off Lavender for looking at him. 

Harry sat back down next to Seamus, making sure that their arms brushed. He wasn’t finished yet; there was a power in good looks, no matter what they said, and he knew this. By instinct, Harry was wielding this power it like a pro. 

“Do you need some help?” Harry whispered, smirking a little at Seamus. Seamus faltered in his beetle-crushing, then a small spark of mischievousness played in his eyes. 

“Yes, please,” Seamus said, a little loudly. Harry vaguely realized the whole class was listening in. He played along, “Alright then.” 

As Seamus was seated on his left, Harry placed his left hand to Seamus thigh and kept it there. He leaned forward, right hand crushing the beetles with a spare pestle. The position made them breathe the same air. 

Whispers were definitely circulating around the class. Harry did his best not to look anywhere else but the mortar on the table. Seamus, thoroughly intrigued at what Harry was up to, leaned even closer and whispered so quietly that no one would have heard. 

“Getting even at an ex?” 

Harry smirked, “Something like that.” 

Seamus grinned, “Well, me too.” 

Glass shattered from a table behind them. Snape swooped down, as if he were seeing red. Harry turned to watch. 

It was Malfoy’s vials. 

Malfoy was gritting his teeth, and was shaking slightly; the shattered glass littered the desk. He was staring at his hand, which held what was left of the bottle, but he didn’t seem to care. He glared up at Harry with expressive silver eyes, so expressive that Harry was taking aback by the intensity. 

“Stupid boy!” Snape snarled at the blonde, “Pick those up with your hands! How _dare_ you disturb the class? I knew that most people here would never appreciate the subtle silence of potion-making, but I never even imagined that of all people, it would be you, mister Malfoy, who would desecrate it! Thirty points from Slytherin!” 

Things were definitely getting interesting. Malfoy was left seething in the Potion Master’s wake. Snape seemed beyond reasonable, even after his rant; it was as if he wanted to throttle… as if he wanted to kill… Snape ran his hand through his dark hair, and stormed out of the classroom. The class erupted in more talk. Harry laughed and continued with his potion. 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, _Potter_ ,” Sniped Malfoy, scathingly, crushing the rest of the glass pieces with his fist. “Careful or you might just start sucking Finnigan off. Wanna do me too, while you’re at it?” 

A few Slytherins snickered, although most of them looked as if they would like that from Harry, given the chance. Harry shrugged and blew him a kiss, replying, “Just like last night, you mean?” 

The room exploded in laughter. Malfoy, totally unprepared for that, gaped like a fish, a pink tinge appearing in his cheeks. The ruckus dissipated instantly a few minutes later when Snape returned, looking a little better, but still akin to an ill-tempered vulture, eyeing everyone dangerously and shouting at anyone who dared do anything except work. 

The class was crazy with gossip by the time they were through with Potions. A lot of wacky theories began to emerge. Some, to Harry’s great amusement, even believed that Snape and Malfoy were secretly ‘getting it on’ like Seamus and himself. Although the assumptions varied, many hitting too close for comfort, Harry hoped most believed his favorite theory. 

“What was that all about?” cried Ron as soon as he caught up with Harry and Hermione. Harry shrugged, trying his best to restrain his embarrassment. “Bad day for Slytherins, I guess.” 

“Not that, you twit!” Harry’s eyes widened for a moment, and turned to face the other boy. Ron was _really_ pissed, “How come you never told me you were gay?” 

Harry stared at his bestfriend blankly. The truth was a little too shocking to be said so crassly. “Uhh… I’m not…?” 

“Bullshit! I saw you with Seamus, and if that’s not gay, I don’t know what is!” 

Harry noticed they were drawing a crowd. He hated it when Ron was being daft. He rolled his eyes, and bit out sarcastically, “ _Me_? I’m not gay. I’m bi.” 

“What?!” 

“What is your problem?” asked Hermione bitingly to Ron. 

Ron swiveled to her. “How else should I react after I just found out my best friend’s ‘bi’ and openly flirting with any male _or_ female that happens to pass by!?” 

“Well, I don’t know, maybe if I really _were_ bi, I think you should be rather supportive!” yelled Harry. He seriously considered swatting Ron’s head with his Potions book. Ron laughed, but it was not a jolly one. 

“Well, maybe you should have told be a little about your preference before you acted like a slut!” 

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, aghast. Ron, seeming a little surprised at what came out of his mouth, turned away from them both and stomped towards the stairs. There were more whispers in the corridor. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Hermione sniffed. 

Harry made a face, feeling rather hurt and embarrassed. “Him? He’s just a great big jerk.” 

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because Hermione stiffened, and looked like she was trying not to tear. Harry stared at her a little while, surprised and unknowing what to do. He felt quite silly and guilty over the whole ordeal, before Parvati and Lavender crowded beside her and shot him accusing glances. Harry felt even more annoyed when they looked a little interested in him as they walked Hermione off for some “girl time.” 

Harry ran his hand through his hair and sulked off another way, leaving the sixth year crowd with just one more topic to discuss. 

\--- 

Harry was late for Care of Magical Creatures, but Reno Morris waved his apology aside. “Just get to work, alright? I’ve already distributed the griffins.” 

Any other day, Harry would be at least a little excited to see his griffin. But after the fight with Ron, his mood had soured. To top it off, he met professor McGonagall on the way to class and she told him that his detention schedule was final. She seemed resigned to the fact that the Quidditch team may not have their captain during practices, and that even if she talked to Dumbledore, Harry’d better not get his hopes up. 

Harry sighed and ventured off to the field. 

Ron wasn’t present, and surprisingly, neither was Hermione. Harry was particularly interested in this mystery: no matter how hard the ordeal, Hermione never missed a class, as long as she was physically nearby. This was absolutely strange, but Harry simply made a mental note to talk to her about it later. He stalked off towards his Slytherin partner. He peeked at the other students but couldn’t get a glimpse of any griffin. They were all crowding around and fussing over it. Finally, Harry found his way to his blonde partner. 

Each pair had a little fence all to themselves. Theirs looked very sleek and elegant compared to the others. He suspected Malfoy conjured it before he arrived. 

Malfoy was inside the paddock, sitting down on the lustrous green grass, unmoving. Harry gazed at the Slytherin’s lap, where a tiny little fur ball sat, curled into him. Malfoy was holding a bottle, and looked uncertain and a little frightened at the prospect of nursing. 

Harry came into the paddock and sat stoically beside the blonde. Malfoy blinked at him, but instead of saying something nasty, he smiled. A genuine smile, although it looked a little strained. Harry felt like the world had come to an end. 

“What?” Harry snapped. Malfoy hesitated, and seemed as if he was picking his words carefully. 

“Rough day?” Malfoy was being gentle with his tone. Harry looked at him suspiciously. What was he up to? 

“It isn’t any of your business.” 

Malfoy was about to retort rudely, Harry could tell, but he looked away instead. Then, he grinned. “Well, I just think you’re wasting your energy sulking right now.” 

Silence. Harry blinked. 

“Why?” 

His silver eyes seemed so sincere. “Because the day hasn’t ended yet.” 

After he’d said it, Malfoy looked mortified, and began staring at their griffin. He was still holding the pup and the bottle awkwardly. Harry tried his best not to be impressed. Who knew this Slytherin could actually act decent? Who knew Harry could possibly receive an encouragement from Draco Malfoy? 

Harry laughed. 

“You don’t know how to do anything, do you?” He said lightly, snatching the bottle and taking the pup from the other boy’s lap. Malfoy eyed him strangely for a moment, then, as if he was a little pleased and irritated at the same time, he challenged, “Well, let’s see you try, then.” 

It was strange; their first civil conversation would be about nursing. Nevertheless, Harry showed Malfoy how to hold the griffin and grip the bottle, letting the plastic nipple near its mouth (in this case, beak.) Malfoy leaned closer, watching attentively. Harry glanced at him. _Odd_ , Harry thought. Where was the sniping, where was the jeer? Malfoy seemed a little self-conscious, and it was a little cute... 

Harry tried not to narrow his eyes, but he was _very_ suspicious. Malfoy must be thinking of a sneaky plan. 

Although, some of Harry’s bad mood was relieved by the blonde. That must be a good thing, right? As Harry thought of it, he realized t was actually quite flattering to see Malfoy trying to restrain his insulting attitude. 

“How come you know how to do this?” Malfoy asked, looking up at the Gryffindor. Their noses were almost touching, and, as if he too realized this, Malfoy moved back to a respectable distance. 

“Well,” Said Harry, pausing to think of how to explain, “Muggles sometimes pay other muggles to take care of pets or even their own kids for a while. I’ve done it once or twice with kittens.” 

Malfoy immediately made a face, “I hate cats.” 

“That’s just because they’re smarter than you.” Harry retorted, turning back to the griffin. 

Harry knew Malfoy was blinking stupidly, and he tried to keep a straight face as he stared at their pup. He figured he quite liked their griffin, which was having trouble getting at the plastic nipple because of its dark beak. Harry noticed that the chestnut feathers and fur were all tiny and scruffy, but also unbelievably soft. Harry looked up at his partner. 

“What?” asked the Gryffindor. 

Malfoy lifted his chin, looking down at the small griffin, “Nothing. I was just thinking how I would never demean myself to the stature of a house-elf.” 

“Really?” said Harry, lifting a brow. Malfoy made a curt nod. 

Harry turned and saw Morris approaching. Smiling slyly, he dumped their griffin onto Malfoy’s arms and said loudly, “You try, Malfoy. So you’ll learn. Right Professor?” 

“Quite right,” Said Morris, smiling as he walked away, “Great idea. I expect you to empty the bottle on him, Mr. Malfoy. ” 

Harry was laughing hard as Malfoy glared daggers at him. “I hate you,” Malfoy muttered as he held the pup and the bottle uncomfortably. He began blushing as he said this. 

\--- 

Harry was smiling as he recalled that particular scene while walking up the stairs towards the commonroom. It was dinnertime, but he didn’t feel like eating, so he decided to nap a little on his favorite sofa. 

When he passed by a certain window, he stopped and peered outside. Early Ravenclaw Quidditch players were already on the field with their broomsticks, talking to each other. Harry felt a pang in his heart as he remembered that he wouldn’t be practicing anytime soon, and he sighed, his smile fading. 

His mood was instantly ruined. So what if Malfoy didn’t know how to nurse? So what if Malfoy was being cute and decent? Harry might lose a Quidditch match to him because he hadn’t been practicing. It wasn’t fair! 

_Stupid Snape_ , he thought. _The bugger must be laughing at my arse right now._ Memories of Snape's crueler altercations came thundering in his head. Harry didn’t feel like going to the Slytherin party anymore; what he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and curse Snape all night long. Or maybe he’d go out flying tonight. 

He made his way to the common room, mulling over this. But as he was moodily staring at the fireplace, two young girls entered and shattered his dark line of thought. 

“Harry!” said Ginny, “Time to get dressed!” 

“I’m not going,” Sniped back Harry, glaring into the fire. There was a moment for the two girls to appreciate how handsome Harry looked against the firelight, but Ginny spoke up again. 

“What do you mean you’re not going? You have to go! Or do you want your butt to grow big blasted boils all month long?” 

Harry faced away from them. What he cared about was Quidditch, not butts or parties. Malfoy’s invitation could go to hell for all he cared. 

Luna seemed to have caught on to what he was thinking. In no way were Harry’s detentions secret. “Well, butt boils are harder to take when you’re on a broom. It will be just like another enemy.” 

Ginny glanced at Luna, confused, but Harry understood. He drummed his fingers on the armrest and looked sternly at both of them, considering his options. If you examined it at the right light, it was quite an obvious choice. He sighed. 

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” 

And that was how the two girls shoved Harry into the bathrooms. Harry took a long bath, hoping against hope that the girls would go away if it seemed as if he’d drowned himself. But instead of worrying the girls, his time in the bathroom actually helped them. When he’d finished bathing, they’d already laid out his clothes. 

“I borrowed these from Fred,” Ginny said happily when Harry came out, a snitch-inspired bath towel wrapped around his middle. Harry goggled at the attire laid out before him. Somehow it looked as if he’d be wearing more cloth if he went to the party in his towel. 

“I’m not wearing that! –Wait, scratch that, I wouldn’t be wearing anything anyway.” 

“Oh stop being such a prude!” Ginny said, hauling Harry towards them. 

\--- 

A respectable twenty-five minutes later, the sixth year Gryffindor boys entered their room to find, firstly: two girls stowing girly things away. Secondly, was Harry Potter, who was another thing entirely. He was a _god_. 

After a long argument with the girls, where the choice had been between tiny vinyl shorts or black leather pants, Harry was able to sport the latter, in the hopes of preserving some form of decency. What he found out later was that it did no such thing except lure eyes to the shape of his thighs and the curve of his tight buttocks. 

The one thing he liked was the simple short-sleeved black shirt that hung a little high, but nevertheless looked simple and wonderful on him. His hair was bedroom-y, and the green of his eyes looked even brighter under the graceful mascara that Luna had drawn. Harry was fidgeting nervously at his collar, and on the chains adorning him, and was staring at his boots. 

“Help me,” Dean exclaimed breathily, “I think I’m going to have a heart attack. Whooh, it’s hot in here.” 

He sat on his bed, waving at himself and eyeing Harry up and down. Seamus walked around the black-clad Gryffindor, examining him, “Jesus, Harry, do you want to go out with me?” 

Harry laughed, “Funny. Your straight, Seamus Finnigan.” 

“Not anymore,” Seamus retorted. 

“Where are you off to?” Neville asked, distracted by the chains near Harry’s belt. 

Ginny was finished packing. She strutted across the room, towards the door. “We’re going out for a little Hogsmeade thing. Don’t tell anyone, would you? It’ll be really hard covering up for tonight.” 

“Can I come?” Seamus was distracted by some part of Harry’s anatomy where a decent boy wouldn’t have stared. Harry blushed. 

Luna piped up, carrying the gothic cosmetics, “Ginny says it was invitational, so maybe not. I better get going.” She walked up to Ginny and gave her a light kiss. “I’ll be in the common rooms, ok?” 

Ginny smiled. “Alright. Goodnight,” 

As Luna made her way out, Harry glanced at Ron. He looked very annoyed. 

“What’s up your ass?" asked Harry, a little harshly. 

Ron didn’t reply. He just jumped onto his bed and turned away from him. Harry rolled his eyes, said goodnight to the others, and walked with Ginny to the common rooms. It was now time for Ginny’s transformation. 

Ginny took a little longer than Harry, but it did her very well. Harry asked where Ginny got the slinky red party dress that glittered magically near her naked thighs and wrapped gingerly low on her breasts, and Ginny shrugged. “A friend lent it to me.” She was putting on red gloves and high heeled red sandals. 

Harry inspected her once more, noting idly that Ron would totally kill them both if he found out what his sister was wearing to a Slytherin bash. Nevertheless, Harry was enthralled and reminded of those sexy assassin women who dressed up to inflame a target. She was _definitely_ out to set fire. 

Harry and Ginny used the invisibility cloak together, and though it was quite awkward with Ginny’s skimpy red dress, they made it without incident. Midway through, Ginny told Harry to go on ahead, because she still had to meet her date somewhere else. So Harry, nervous and rattled, hid the Invisibility cloak inside a stone vase and ventured off alone to the entrance of the Slytherin common room: the portrait of Dorian Gray. 

Zacharias Smith and a few other seventh year Slytherin boys stood guard over the portrait entrance. Once Harry Potter came to view everything stilled; it was as if the room itself had stopped breathing. Harry turned away, but it only made the sight of him more to behold. The long straight nose, the handsome lips, the utterly delectable body… The Slytherins were feasting on him with their eyes. 

“Not bad, Potter,” Said Nott, eyeing him as if he were a piece of candy put out on display. The other Slytherins snickered. Harry regarded them as composedly as he could, although every fiber of his pious conscience told him to run away. 

“Do I need my date to come in,” Asked Harry, “or will you let me pass?” 

“Suck me off first,” Cooed Smith, sneering. 

“Maybe I would, if you had one.” Harry laughed, trying his best to sound natural. 

“What’s going on here?” 

It was that familiar drawl that made Harry’s heart skip a beat. He turned to where Draco Malfoy had come in from the hallway. Draco halted in his tracks. Harry thought he’d seen a different emotion deep within the silver eyes as the blonde caught sight of him, but he could not distinguish it. A pregnant silence pervaded. 

It was like an eternity as they gazed upon each other. 

\--- 

A/N: Buahahaha Haven’t done justice to the other cliffhangers, so this’ll make up for it… So sorry! 

Secondly, I wasn’t able to fit this little information in the story. Harry and Draco, and perhaps all Gryffindors and Slytherins, will not go camping with their pup yet, the griffins are still too young. 

Another thing, please don’t judge dear Ronald from what you see here; it is all part of my plan. gulp Yup, my plan... Of course I have a plan! -blush- 

I’ve dedicated this chapter to myself, (selfish me:3) Anyways, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for reviewing, or for at least accompanying me through this story. I’ve learned that I owe even those who never review, because at least they read my works. And I really hope it’s due to laziness and not because they leave the story coz it sucks… I thank you all sooo much for appreciating it! 

Uber thankies to my beta, Scorpion Moon Goddess, who is the most efficient and unlazy person in the world! (Since, of course, I am lazy as hell. :p) You guys better be thanking her or else this would have (could you believe it) been a longer wait! Ngegege! 

Oh no! Here comes the party! 


	5. Slytherin Trickery

  
Author's notes: Where Harry finds himself in a predicament in the Slytherin party, and when he learns he can never let his guard down...  


* * *

**IV Slytherin Trickery**

**A/N:** WARNING: non con,and Harry being a wuss, but I like him a little that way. I've gotten a lot of flames for this and the next chapter... 

\--- 

Malfoy was shirtless, and against the moonlight from a nearby window, his sculpted torso looked almost ethereal. Harry’s heart pounded into his chest as he gazed at the blonde’s jeans, which crept a little lower than it should have, molding down to slender hips in a provocative manner. Bronze snake armbands glittered darkly as Malfoy walked towards them. 

What was most exciting, Harry noted, was the way Malfoy gazed at him: as if the blonde was claiming him; consuming him; searing him into memory. It was as if every inch of Malfoy burned for him, the way his eyes glinted ravenously. But the Slytherin kept still, and turned to his fellow house mates. 

“He’s with me. Are you giving him trouble?” 

The other Slytherins hooted, sneering at Harry. “Well, well, quite a catch.” 

“Why don’t you share him with us?” Cooed Blithe, a handsome but leery-looking brunette. The others walked around them, checking Harry’s outfit with obvious delight. Malfoy grasped Potter’s wrist a little tightly, and cocked his head towards his housemates. “Not likely. Move aside.” 

They brushed past the gang without a second glance, and Harry found himself facing explosive music and lights from the depths of the Slytherin common room. He hesitated; feeling like he’d taken a bite too big; a challenge to frightening. And the feeling worsened when Malfoy looked back with a patronizing expression. He allowed the blonde to steer him into the common rooms before pulling his wrists away. “I don’t need to be mothered,” he gritted out. 

Malfoy was too busy ogling him. The blonde looked like he’d gone crazy with lust, and without another second Harry realized Malfoy’s hands were on him, pushing him against the wall. All around Harry could hear cheers, and drunken laughs; the room was filled with people and smoke and song. Somewhere farther, Harry noticed people dancing, but before he could divulge any other facts, the soft lips on his neck made him squirm. 

“Dress like this everyday, Potter and I swear I’ll fuck you over the Gryffindor table,” Malfoy sneered, licking at Harry’s jaw line. Harry tried to fend him off. Oh Gods, he could feel the arousal of the other boy against his own. Malfoy moaned darkly as Harry struggled against him, the actions making glorious friction with their bodies. Harry could literally feel Malfoy getting harder. 

“Don’t,” Harry was dizzy and embarrassed and aroused; his hands falling weakly on Malfoy’s shoulders. The Slytherin’s hand had gotten past his shirt, and was now caressing the soft skin of his torso; Harry suppressed a moan as long fingers reached up to fondle his hardening nipples. Malfoy’s other hand wandered down to Harry’s ass, groping it hard; pushing the Gryffindor towards himself; towards his raging erection. 

Malfoy was growling into his neck, biting and kissing and licking. They were hot up against each other, wild and passionate, and Harry had never known these mind blowing kisses ever existed. Malfoy was purely carnal, a powerful predator, and yet it was Harry who made this demon lose his cool. 

“So… fucking… hot…” Malfoy groaned, pinning Harry closer, grounding slender hips against his own. Harry closed his eyes, his flesh tingling, and before he knew it, their lips met. And Harry was responding. 

A vicious and tantalizing passion possessed this kiss; Malfoy’s tongue invited itself in, tasting the warm flesh of his sweet mouth, the contours. Harry had never been this excited, never knew snogging could be this mind blowing; with Malfoy over-powering, Malfoy crazy, Malfoy totally out of control… 

It was getting too much. Malfoy’s hands had turned from insistent to desperate. His bites were harder, and his fingers practically clawed at him, trying to get his clothes off, his hands in. Finally, Harry snapped to his senses, and with gigantic willpower and a firm push, he brought Malfoy at a decent arm’s length. Malfoy looked stunned. 

“Stop this!” Harry breathed, “Don’t! I-I came here because of the stupid curse, not for this!” 

“Hah!” Malfoy retorted. He breathed heavily, face flushed, eyes so very desperate, so very dangerous, so very angry. He ran a shaky hand through his blonde tresses as he glared at the other boy. He was still standing closer than Harry would’ve liked; he could make out the silver eyes flashing, even under the dark green lights of the Slytherin torches. 

The blonde drew a step closer, so that they were nose to nose. “True Gryffindor pomp, I see.” He sneered. They were still for a moment, letting the music cause a bridge between them. Finally, he took a step back, sending Harry a look of scorn, “…I’d advise you not to warm up too much with the drinks. We wouldn’t want a newbie like you caking up the floors.” 

With that suddenly cold remark, the blonde turned and walked away, so that if one moment Harry was looking into those sharp silver eyes, he was now confused and alone amidst the crowded common room, with outrageous music blasting in from all sides. 

Harry was infuriated, both at himself at his so called “host”. He hadn’t expected to be abandoned so early into the evening, and he felt awkward and stupid as he wandered deeper into the Slytherin boudoir. Gyrating bodies were everywhere, grounding and meshing into the smoke, the lights and each other. Their club clothes just as perverse and illegally sexy as his. There was no one he recognized, but many took an interest in him, the stares sending prickling sensations down the back of his neck. 

It was then when unfriendly hands arrested him. 

It was so quick that it took a moment for Harry to realize he had been pulled aside and steered into a dark corner, banging against other bodies and stumbling upon feet. He tried to look behind him but the assailant twisted his arm, forcing him to turn away. 

“What are you doing?” Harry growled, as he was shoved roughly on a couch. 

A strange, dark chuckle. “Pulling you away before you embarrass yourself.” 

Harry looked up and stared at the golden eyes of Blaise Zabini. The boy was bathed in shadows, but he could still make out the exotic eyes and slender, beautiful features. Harry glanced down a moment, distracted by the boy’s open shirt, before looking back at the Slytherin, blushing. 

Blaise cocked his head. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” 

“Oh fuck off, Zabini. And step back, I, I just decided to go back to the Gryffindor tower.” 

Zabini smirked, and took drinks from a Slytherin girl passing by. He handed one to Harry, and smiled wider, “Aww, is that the limit of the famous Gryffindor bravery? Come and have a drink with me.” 

Harry, taking the drink, looked a little crestfallen. He’d gotten that comment twice this week, and it certainly wasn’t doing any good to his self esteem. He looked around, and noticed that the other guys and girls were not as uptight nor as cowardly as he was, they were genuinely having a good time. Really! He was nearly seventeen, almost a grown wizard. What was the harm? 

Blaise looked amused at the fact that Harry seemed constipated as held the bottle of liquor in his hand. Harry glared at him as he undid the cork, took a deep hearty swig to prove what he was made of, and profoundly choked on it. 

Blaise laughed, “Watch it, precious, we don’t want your knickers in a fix too early in the night… Where’s your host?” 

“Dunno.” Said Harry, and continued in thought, ‘ditched me first chance he got.’ 

“Oh really?” 

Harry blinked. Blaise suddenly looked calculating, almost as if he were planning something naughty… As a matter of fact, Harry noticed that Blaise’s finger was rubbing the leather of his pants a little sensually. Harry’s hard on, which was slowly calming down, was called to re-attention. Harry shifted a little farther away and took another gulp of Fire Whiskey. 

The liquor was a like a firework, bursting into his senses, and suddenly the world looked a little lopsided. And as Harry watched, Blaise eyed him like vulture and licked his lips. His own pants tightened, responding. Harry looked away. No, this was probably only paranoia. He took another swig at his drink, hoping to drown out his uneasiness. 

A bit later Harry started to tilt to his left. 

“Easy there,” Blaise muttered, pulling him upright and closer. 

“Here, try this, it tastes better.” 

Harry barely registered swapping drinks, but the taste of the next one was hard to forget. Sweet, bursting with flavor, fruity and not in the least bit alcoholic. Only taste wise, of course, but Harry didn’t know it. 

“Good, eh?” Blaise smirked, and watched Harry grin stupidly. Harry thought it was wonderful, and watched the colors of the party room swirl in beat with the music. In the deep dark recesses of his mind, Harry noticed that these were the symptoms of muggle drugs, but he could not keep that notion a second longer as his body craved for more of the drink. Blaise was helpful, handing him bottle after bottle, and Harry’s sight and sensation swirled; he couldn’t tell how many drinks he’d had, or how long it had taken before everything seemed to be akin of a puddle. People came, talked, laughed, danced, touched, flirted, but he could not tell which one when, or how long, or who. Someone’s fingers made his way to his bare waist. A hand groped his ass. Someone kissed him. Fondled him. 

Later he recognized a couple seated on a love seat not far from them: it was Ginny. Ginny with her top down and a blonde seventh year girl suckling on her; writhing with her; pushing her down, a hand under Ginny’s red skirt. Harry’s hard-on throbbed. 

And then he barely registered that there were now two Slytherins boys, one on either side, hot up against him. They were ravenous. They were wicked. They were busy with their little piece of Gryffindor who happened to be sandwiched between them. 

Harry’s right hand hung down from the sofa, holding an empty bottle, while Blaise licked his ear. Hands were all over him, one pressed against his clothed erection, a mouth on his naked chest, his shirt heaved up; his legs were apart and Harry could feel his arousal: hard, and painful. Half of him didn’t want this, but his body was sluggish and tingly and _so_ full of pleasure. 

More loud music. But then there was a shift in the mood. Suddenly, Harry heard an angry voice. The Gryffindor felt movement, heard someone roughhousing, but his eyes were closed and he couldn’t understand anything. He needed another drink, but there was no one to help him get one, so he stayed motionless. 

Someone pulled him to his feet unexpectedly, causing his world to swirl. A boy caught him and hoisted him up on something sharp, firm… a shoulder. He moaned, stirred; he didn’t feel bad at all, but he needed another Fruit Cocktail, he needed, he wanted… Where was Malfoy? 

There were more noises. He felt himself moving. The flashing magic strobes, the bass pumping without a source… They were fading, falling into silence… Steps down to a colder, quiet room. He opened his eyes as he was placed down softly on a warm bed. 

There were two people in the fuzzy room. Pretty people. A boy with hair the color of white straw, a girl with curves like a rainbow. Oh god, Harry thought, he was really out of it. 

A girl’s sneering tough voice, sounding smug and pitying at the same time. Pansy Parkinson. 

“Oh yummy… I didn’t think…” Her words were so hard to distinguish, “We can… You alright, hon?” 

The male one laughed. “…look alright to you, Pans?” 

“Well, no,” She giggled. “Ooh… sexy little… want some of him too, Dray…” 

There were more mutters. Eventually, Pansy walked out of the room, giggling, and there was a sweet silence that befell them. Harry closed his eyes, surrendering to the warmness, to the comfortable bed. He felt pleasant, still aroused, and lazy. He wasn’t in limbo, he _was_ limbo. 

He could not tell how long it took before he heard the bedsprings squeak; before he realized Malfoy was on top of him. The feeling of alarm quickly swept through his muddled mind, and Harry could feel himself slowly waking. Could feel his drunken stupor coming down a few notches. Could feel that there was something terribly wrong. 

\---- 

Draco Malfoy had never been as aroused, or viciously jealous in his life, until he found a certain drunk Harry Potter meshed against Blaise Zabini and Aldus Nott on the sofa. Under the dark flashing light and the “Party Fog” that the seventh year Lloyd Kolder had conjured, Potter’s display on the couch was fucking sexy porn. Blaise on one side of the couch, facing up and practically spooning the Gryffindor, and Nott on top of Harry. This dirty-blonde Nott had shoved Harry’s shirt up and was feasting on his skin. Harry was moaning, gyrating and flushed; Draco had seen red. His cock throbbed in the confines of his jeans. 

As Draco moved closer he was both enraptured and enraged when he realized Harry’s leather-sheathed legs were spread apart to accommodate Nott, and Nott was certainly taking advantage of it. Draco swore at Harry’s expression when Blaise began kissing the back of his neck. Finally, he could take no more. 

“What the _fuck_ do you two think you’re doing? He’s my charge!” 

“Oh God, Draco, I –couldn’t help it, he nearly passed out—" Blaise’s eyes were lidded with booze and lust. Draco pulled both Slytherins to their feet with amazing strength. He was livid. 

“I told you—” 

“Fuck Draco, give us a break,” Growled Nott, looking quite irritated at his spoiled fun. “You left him—“ 

A punch came to Nott’s face, and another fell on Blaise’s cheek. Draco straightened to his full height, eyeing them with the disdain only a Malfoy can pull off. In the web of pure-blooded families, the Notts and the Zabinis were a little under the Malfoys, and both other boys knew it. They looked down under Draco’s glare. 

“Touch him again, and I will punish as I see fit.” 

Draco spared no other warning, and hoisted his ward, Harry, onto his shoulder. He began to walk towards a stone stairway. Harry felt hot and wanton, and Draco barely repressed himself as Harry’s fingers wandered all over his back. Draco felt a little pang of tenderness for this idiot, but shelved the feeling aside. If there was something he was feeling, he told himself, it was that uncanny sensation between his legs. 

Pansy Parkinson, looking dishelved and flushed from the dance floor spotted him, waved and came over as they descended into Draco’s prefect quarters. 

“Hi hon, I— oh my god he is one hot creature,” Her tough voice was lightened with her drunkenness. Draco ignored her and placed Harry smoothly onto the bed. 

Right now he would have done anything to have Pansy out of the room. Here he was, horny as hell, with The-Boy-Who-Lived finally on his bed and she’d just decided to have a little chit-chat. Or a threesome. Great. 

“Oh yummy, Dray. I didn’t think he’d be this hot before. Look at that ass!” 

Draco rolled his eyes as Pansy rattled on as she stared at the sleeping boy. ”You alright, hon?” 

Draco couldn’t suppress a snort, “He look alright to you, Pans?” 

She considered the boy for a moment. “Well, no, but ooh he’s a sexy little devil. Let me have some of him too, Dray, please!” 

Draco narrowed his eyes as he stared down at her, sitting by the bed and stroking Harry’s hair. The Parkinsons were quite equal with Malfoy in terms of status, so he would not be able to bully her. He went for desperation, which wasn’t far from the truth. 

“Pansy,” He said, “I need to break him.” 

“I can hold him down.” 

He walked closer towards the bed, looking sternly at the Slytherin girl. “No, Pans. You know me; I would’ve let you but… but not this time.” He put on a pleading face. 

She looked at him and pouted, but after a moment rolled her eyes and walked zigzagged-ly towards the door. 

“Oh pooh, you spoil everything.” And she sauntered out with the door closing behind her. 

And then there was sweet, sweet silence. He turned to the boy on the bed. 

One look at Potter, with his legs apart and his black satin shirt riding up his abdomen, and all rational thoughts flew out the window. His mouth turned dry— who would’ve thought that finally, Draco had gotten the boy he lusted over for so many years— right there, ready for a deliciously rough ride. 

Seeing him there, all spread out on his bed, in actual full reality, was such a fucking turn on. He came upon the bed, and for once the squeaky bedsprings did not bother him. He was too desperate, too fucking horny to care. He saddled the Gryffindor. 

He was beautiful; Potter, with the innocent face and the tousled ebony hair. There was something positively magical that was blooming within him— he looked even more gorgeous than any of Draco’s fantasies. Draco’s length twitched; he’d had a _lot_ of fantasies, but this time it was for real. 

A deep angry red mark under Harry’s ear caught his eye. Draco hadn’t done anything that hard on the boy— and it looked too old to have been one of the other Slytherins. A boiling rage abruptly surfaced from his chest, a deep furious heat welled up; even his cock pulsed. Potter’s eyelids lifted at this moment, and Draco found himself glaring at a pair of bright green eyes. 

Draco could feel his heart beat through his ears. Blood rushed all through him in a surge of anger. He slapped Harry across the face and pinned him down. 

“Who have you got, fucking you?” He whispered harshly into the Gryffindor’s ear. “I’ll kill the little bitch.” This anger, this fury, this hate had suddenly possessed his every vein, his every thought, his every breath. A rip sounded throughout the room as he tore Harry’s shirt. 

Harry was moaning, and Draco leaned down and bit Harry viciously on his neck. With his nimble hands he roughly undressed them both while trailing wet, passionate kisses against Harry’s cheek. The bedsprings squeaked more, and the sounds of cloth ripping echoed through out the room, mingled with Harry’s own little gasps. When they were naked, Malfoy caught the other boy’s lips in a heated kiss. 

Harry responded, flinging his arms around him, legs spreading over the silken sheets as white fingers practically clawed at his now naked thighs, Malfoy delirious with passion and fury. They meshed against each other, and Harry moaned, his breath decidedly alcohol-tinged but Malfoy didn’t care. It was so good, so fucking fantastic— before he knew it he’d propped Harry’s legs on his shoulders and prepared them both sloppily with spit. He’d never before been this rough— this quick— this frantic to have himself buried inside. But Harry was so tight, so hot, and he was so furious at the thought that someone might have had this pleasure before him. 

He entered Harry in one solid thrust. Harry screamed. 

Draco didn’t care— past the point of caring. Malfoys had always prided themselves in being under control of any situation, but this was one such situation Draco was miserably failing. He hated it; only Harry had ever made him lose so much control. But yet here he was, playing into it, pulling out and thrusting back in again, floored by the intense pleasure. 

He leaned into Harry, who was panting, squirming; his eyes shut. “I’m going to fuck you raw,” He said, hoarsely, harshly, “I’m going to pound into you, bang you so hard that you’ll believe that this,” a hard, quick thrust, “is the only thing that can _ever_ have you.” 

Harry moaned, tears streaming down, his body too weak, too sluggish to fight, and in some nights onward Draco will be haunted by these tears, haunted by the fact that he’d been too rough, too cruel, too angry… 

But as of now the blonde didn’t care, he was too caught up in the passion. He went, harder and faster until sweat trickled down his body, and the moans elevated to screams, and the bedsprings squeaked louder; until he’d grasped Harry, who came with a resounding cry, spilling himself over both their stomachs. 

Bright white flashes came in front of his eyes, and Draco could not deny it, he’d felt a gripping sensation in his heart as he pounded harshly into at the satiated Gryffindor. He came in a burst inside the other boy, the feeling so indescribably luscious, so indescribably astounding. The Slytherin collapsed next to the drunken boy, panting heavily; no longer aggressive, no longer angry. 

Harry’s eyes closed, he looked a little pained. A sheen of fresh sweat glimmered on his face as he panted deeply. Draco echoed these breaths, nudging himself deeper into Harry’s body heat. 

Inside, rivulets of anguish washed through the Gryffindor; he soaked into it, absorbed it all; like a desperate leech in a puddle of blood. It was unfortunate that he never saw Draco’s soft expression when the blonde tucked a tendril of dark hair behind his ear. 

Sleep took them both by surprise. 

\----- 

Harry awoke with the morning sun glaring into his face. His pupils dilated; he shut his eyes tightly and shielded the sunlight with his arm, turned to his right, his body sore and tired and uncomfortable. 

Wait a minute… 

He bolted to a sitting position and glanced around anxiously. 

Soft squishy maroon couches. Charming old chandelier. Big brick fireplaces. Warm and homey picture frames. It was undoubtedly the Gryffindor common room. Harry blinked once, twice, disbelieving; then inspected himself. Someone had apparently wiped him clean of alcohol and dressed him in his own Chudley Cannon shirt and boxers. 

Only the dark bruises that had begun to form along his arms served as memoirs of the Slytherin party. Harry winced as some of the memories, mostly all shadows and blurred shapes came back to him. He noticed that his hips and his bottom ached. 

“Harry?” 

Harry turned and realized that someone magicked the sofa he was on. Instead of accommodating one sleeping person, it had been widened to accommodate two. Ginny was sitting up as well, looking astonished and dressed in her purple “Punk Rock Poodle” pajamas. Her hair was in a tangle and her eyes were deep-set, which didn’t suit her at all. 

“Who brought us back here?” Harry asked quietly, trying to remember. Flashes of blonde hair and his own two legs up in the air came into his mind. He shelved them from his thoughts with disgust. 

Ginny was stretching, “I can’t remember anything… I blacked out after… after…” 

“Oh yeah… I saw you… You were… was that your…” 

“No… My date was Antony Smarkins, and I left him right away…” Ginny muttered, combing through her hair with her hand, “but his sister Alladella was there… And things got a little… wild…” 

A moment of embarrassed silence. 

“Well, so, uhm… We’re late for our first classes.” She was beat red, and was staring at her watch. Harry got up carefully, wincing as it brought more throbbing in his tender injuries. 

“Why this couch?” 

Ginny looked up at him blankly, then suddenly started. “Oh, yeah, I woke up sometime in the morning to pee… and it was freezing cold here, and it was so unbearable, and… I magicked the couch so I could stay with you…” 

Another, if possibly so— more uncomfortable silence. Ginny opened her mouth and Harry had a feeling she would have apologized, but he quickly cut in, “S’alright Gin. You’re like my little sister. Come on, let’s go downstairs.” 

“Oh my god, who did that to you?” 

She was staring at all the bruises. Harry shrugged and lied neatly, even if his insides were rattling with grief and quiet anger. “I don’t know. Can’t remember. Come on, Gin, I don’t want McGonagall to skin me alive, she’s my second period.” 

\---- 

After a scalding hot bath, (wherein he gritted through, understanding it as some sort of sterilizing rite after his rotten encounter) Harry Potter trudged on towards the Sixth years’ Transfiguration classroom. He did his best to pull up his collar, or magic away the brutal hickeys on his neck, but it was still obvious and he was worried. 

But he was also worried because he thought he would have a nervous breakdown at the sight of the Slytherins; the night’s images had been flashing back like a montage of muggle footage. Luckily, his Transfigurations were shared with the Ravenclaws and after break; Double Herbology was joined with the Hufflepuffs. He would not have to face the Slytherins until the last subject, double Potions… 

Harry was trying to figure out who brought them back from the Slytherin party. It could have been anyone— except maybe the Slytherins. Harry grimaced. 

Professor Flitwick came bustling by the Transfiguration corridor, and when he spotted Harry around the corner he dropped all his parchments and books. Harry immediately bent to pick them up. 

“Oh dear, oh my,” squeaked the professor, accepting the books back from Harry with a grateful smile, “I was just looking for you, Harry Potter. –Thanks,” he juggled his books on his small arms, “The Ministry of Magic are in the Great Hall with Dumbledore who told me to get you. Hurry along, they can’t be kept waiting!” 

Stunned, Harry turned back and went through the staircases that led to the Great Hall. Flitwick moved on to another route, but Harry barely noticed. Why would the Ministry be here in the first place? Was it Voldemort? Was it more disastrous news outside of Hogwarts that spoke of deceit, empty homes, dead bodies found along a river? He felt ill every time he glanced at The Daily Prophet. 

After a stroke of pure genius, Harry made a quick visit to the infirmary. Luckily Ms. Pomphrey was too busy with two third years who managed to get Bubbertuber Puss up their noses to give Harry much of an interrogation. She simply whizzed all the bruises and the bad reminders and Harry was off at a run. 

Should’ve fixed myself up, he thought wryly as he opened the Great Doors and found himself facing a rather large crowd of people. They all stared at him with different levels of amusement as he shuffled inside, red-faced and sweaty, panting from the long run and having the rumpled garments of a boy who had gone through too much corridors. 

“I see that Professor Flitwick’s excitement has rubbed off you,” said Albus Dumbledore, seated on the one giant round table that replaced the customary four. “Sit down here, Harry, and catch your breath.” 

Harry followed wordlessly, and watched as the other people in the room found their seats. Biscuits and lemonade appeared on the kitchenwares that were set in front of them. Harry immediately drank his goblet full. 

Harry noticed that everyone was older, many looking quite authorative. It was a very unusual mix, from muggle-looking to Aurors to ministry officials, to simple everyday wizards. Harry counted about forty. Everyone was silent, looking at Dumbledore for the right start, which of course, the Headmaster gave. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give great honor to unveil all the prime leaders of The Order of the Phoenix.” He looked around. Everyone stared at each other, unsure of how to take that statement. A lot, to Harry’s horror, were staring at him, the Boy-Who-Lived, Voldemort’s most famous enemy. 

But as Harry goggled back at them he realized that in the mixed crowd, there were many of whom he knew, like Oliver Wood and Angelina Johnson, as well as the Weasley twins. Friends like Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour were also present. He gave them a little wave, which they returned. 

“We all have our own important role in the war becoming apparent not only in Wizarding England, but to the whole world— affecting both wizard and muggle alike. It is now important that we know who we are in these dangerous times.” 

Everyone looked stunned. Harry was flabbergasted. The Order of the Phoenix, from what he recalled, was only a small group. But as Harry pondered about it, it was logical for Dumbledore to amass a large army in order to protect a multitude of people. Apparently, Dumbledore had been the bridge, coordinating with different factions of the Order— relaying information, and bouncing it to and fro. People here have been working with each other, without even knowing it, and all operations have gone through Dumbledore! 

“Please, have a pleasant chit chat together.” Continued Dumbledore. “Let us have this over biscuits and truffles, and when we’re through, we will get down to business.” 

As Harry soon discovered, “business” meant having a long discussion on Polly Pratchett, the woman who was found dead along a river. She was a muggle who wasn’t connected at all to the Magical World, and yet died under the worst Unforgivable. Ministry official Davis Bootleg said maybe she’d just been there at the wrong time, but was immediately quelled by the fact that it had happened in America, so very far away from Voldemort’s routes. Oliver Wood, who now lived there, said a dozen wizards had to obliviate countless muggles when the Dark Mark appeared over the river. 

Next they praised the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, which, to Harry’s surprise, had been selling various safety gadgets as well as useless pranks ones. They also funded a lot of gold from their income for the Order voluntarily. 

But as the meeting progressed Harry couldn’t keep up with all the ill-news: the great massacre in Paris, related by Fleur, or the disappearance of other Ministry officials, wand-makers, healers and reporters; the vanishing of Romanian dragons, the escape of all dementors. Tonks, who had been in a surveillance camp with the Ministry, divulged information on an amassing group of mountain giants near Azkaban. 

After a weary two hours, the meeting was cut short by Dumbledore. “Well, we can discuss all other information sometimes else. You all know each other now, so you won’t be needing me to coordinate anymore.” 

“Are you quitting, Dumbledore?” Asked Pollias Skritmish, an Auror. 

Dumbledore shook his head, “No, but all this work gets me a little fiddley. I will still try to do as much as I can, but my hands will be full these next few weeks. Now we must halt this meeting; the third years are scheduled for their second break, and it might be wise if they do not notice us.” 

As people got ready to take their leave, Dumbledore brought Harry aside. Standing in a corner, detached from all the movement of the crowd, Dumbledore whispered, “Harry, have you any idea why I brought you with me?” 

Harry stared up at him blankly. “Not really, no, sir.” 

“You’re almost ready.” 

“Huh?” 

“You’re the most important leader of them all, Harry. You are to bring the Darklord down. So, to ‘break you in,’ so to speak, I’ve decided you should begin leading your own faction… That’s if you want to, of course.” 

\--- 

Harry waited for his class to finish their Herbology lesson, since it was already ending. As they filed out of greenhouse six, he spotted Hermione and Ron going towards the lake, and followed them. Hermione smiled as he approached, but Ron looked like a thundercloud. Harry took the cue. 

“Still homophobic, I see.” 

“Go away, Harry.” 

Ron looked even more pissed off than before. Harry noticed that he was tight-lipped, and growing more red-faced by the second, with Hermione beside him, looked at a loss on what to do. At first Harry wanted to quarrel again: what was the big deal? Most of the other Wizarding people seemed not to notice the difference of gay and straight. He couldn’t understand why Ron acted so differently all of a sudden. But then, Harry thought better of it. He’s fought with Ron once before, and he had no intention of losing his cool this time. He sighed and walked away. 

Seamus Finnigan immediately caught up to him as he passed by the courtyards. 

“Hey, you’re looking a little glum today. You alright?” 

“Been better.” Harry was trying his best not to sink into self-pity, but with last night’s backlash, today’s meeting and Ron’s face crowding into his head, it was hard. It felt like a heavy burden crushing into his ribcage, pulling him down into the depths… 

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and turned. Seamus looked serious. 

“Listen Harry, about Ron…” 

“Look, I just—” 

“No, Harry, you don’t understand.” Seamus voice dropped into a whisper, “You’ve got to talk to him. Say sorry or something.” 

Harry felt like he’d been betrayed. “What? He’s the one who started all this!” 

“No, Harry, you don’t understand—“ 

“Wha—?” 

“Harry, HE’S the reason you got back from the Slytherin common rooms last night!” 

Harry halted in his tracks. At first his head was blank, and there was a numbness that started spreading from his heart. Disbelief. Seamus continued, seeming desperate, talking quickly in case Harry tried to shut him up. But he didn’t realize that Harry was hanging to every syllable. 

“Yeah, I found out about the Slytherin party, and, really… I can’t believe you’d go to something like that… Luna apparently got worried that Ginny didn’t go to her after the party so at around three, she went to the Gryffindor tower to see if she was there. When she realized Ginny hadn’t come back, she woke Ron and told him everything, and said she had a bad feeling about it… Ron got furious, especially at you, and stormed into the party… He found you passed out on one of the couches, bruised as hell, and Ginny on another one. He levitated one of you and carried the other all the way back, and then he and Hermione cleaned you guys up.” 

“Why in the common rooms?” 

“They didn’t want to make noise and wake the rest of us, and besides, levitating someone in the dark… if they did that, you’d have been bound to knock your head somewhere and bounce off the walls. The thought exhausted them, so they made you as comfortable as you guys could be downstairs instead… Hermione told me all this when I railed about Ron being a bitch.” 

Harry was stunned. He and Seamus walked silently down into the dark dreary corridors towards the Potions classroom. 

In one aspect, Harry felt so good he could sing at the top of his lungs. His bestfriend was sticking by him. Yet he also baffled: what was their fight about? What was Ron so pissed off at? He knew Ron, and it wasn’t like him to be so stupid over such an issue, especially when Harry was involved. 

Inside Harry’s feelings, there was also resentment: being saved from the clutches of his own stupidity was a little demeaning. Yet the worst feelings he could decipher, though, was the slicing frustration and guilt; he knew he had done something terribly wrong, and he was unaccustomed to be at this end of the situation. Never had Harry felt so confused. 

\----- 

Apparently, the rumor of he and Ginny sharing the Gryffindor couch was wildfire. Everyone had been talking about it all day, but since he’d missed all his classes beforehand, he uncovered the pleasant fact as he was walking past Slytherin third years. Seamus quickly filled him in: the other Gryffindors, who didn’t know anything, found him and Ginny on the same couch, both looking well-shagged with all the love bites. 

Harry was devastated. Just when he thought things could not get worse, somebody stuck him deeper into the flames. And there he was, burning, charring, melting as he was scrutinized for about a millionth time from students whom he never really knew nor cared about. Harry bit back the urge to yell, “Mind your own business!” as he marched towards the Potions Laboratory anteroom. 

Inside himself, he was trying to build up to bear facing the Slytherins, and most importantly, Draco Malfoy. The fact that it was Snape’s class made it feel even more like Harry was skipping jauntily to his doom. 

Right before entering the classroom proper, Harry abruptly turned to his right, towards the bathrooms. He thought he needed more time to prepare himself before facing Nott and Zabini and Malfoy and Parkinson, especially after finding out about the rumors. 

A movement in front of him made him halt. It was Blaise and Malfoy, looking very suspicious but unruffled; they hadn’t spotted him. Harry quickly hid behind a stone-cold pillar, breathing shallowly as the two Slytherins walked to where he had been seconds ago, both looking quite serious. Blaise pulled Malfoy to face him. 

“I’m sure you had your fun last night, but I need to get paid, Malfoy.” 

A short bark of laughter. Malfoy stood to his full height, and being a few inches taller than Blaise, it was quite the advantage. “For almost taking what was mine? I don’t think so.” 

“I got him drunk like you wanted, you bastard, cough up.” Blaise let him go, took a step back. It was a good thing his footstep echoed down the corridor, for Harry gasped. 

“You hardly need the money.” Slithered Malfoy’s icy voice. 

“No,” and suddenly the other Slytherin smirked, “but the novelty of Draco Malfoy having to buy himself some ass is something I can’t miss.” 

“That really limits the chance of me giving you galleons, you prat.” 

“Not if I can use this information that I apparently have. Imagine, people finding out you actually _paid_ me to get The-Boy-Who-You-Couldn’t-Fuck-Sober drunk out of his wits so that he’d placidly lie on your bed.” After a moment with a straight face, Blaise burst out laughing. And apparently, he’d made a smart move, because Draco looked furious. 

“Oh, for God’s sake— fine, here. Shut up. It’s a hundred less than what I told you, but let that serve as punishment for your… free taste. Now stop stalking me.” He handed Blaise a small brown pouch which jingled loudly, “It’s just my spare allowance, just so you know: two hundred galleons, give Nott a couple of Knuts in case he comes sniveling. And,” he stepped closer to Zabini, eyeing him with contempt, “You can bet I can get Potter again without your help.” 

Blaise gave a disbelieving snort. 

The two Slytherins walked together towards the laboratory. Harry slid down to the wall, his heart numb, and his body weak, not wanting to move. Not wanting to be seen and to be outwitted again. It hurt to have been talked about like you weren’t a person: like you were an amusement ride, something one could buy, or bet on. 

\--- 

The Potions Laboratory was hell. Harry came up amidst sneering cheers and hoots, and much smooching sounds. But nothing deterred him from his goal which was to sit down on an empty chair with dignity. As he strode past Millicent Bulstrode, she snided, “Afraid of your best friend now that you got to shag his sister?” 

Hermione and Ron were at the back, dutifully ignoring the Slytherins’ remarks. Many of the other Gryffindors did the same, and glared at the Slytherins from where they were seated. Some Slytherins, like Nott and Parkinson, smirked knowingly at him; he faced away and stared at his table. 

Someone made a move to sit beside him. He hoped frantically that it was Seamus or Dean, or even Ron, but his stomach twisted at the familiar sight of Draco Malfoy, grinning deviously at him. The blonde turned to his friends, gave a grin and a thumbs up, and they all laughed. 

“Really, Potter,” Said Malfoy, gazing at the faint remnants of the bruises he himself had caused, “that _Weasley_ sure did a number on you!” The Slytherins hooted, delighted. He leaned down closer and whispered silkily, “So how was your good time? It’s a pity you had to heal most of those bruises your own house mates were talking about.” 

“Sod off, Malfoy.” 

Malfoy glanced around furtively; everyone else began setting up their cauldron because Snape’s footsteps were heard in the anteroom. The blonde leaned in closer to Harry, whispering more cautiously, “Aww, Potter, you can’t have hated it that much, especially since you were so desperate for me, admit it—“ 

“Malfoy,” Harry snapped, eyeing him with as much intensity as he could muster, “I am not the one desperate enough to pay people to get me on a bed.” 

Harry felt a stab of satisfaction as Malfoy’s eyes shifted, it was obvious the Slytherin was taken aback. Then he sneered, “Well, let’s just prove them wrong, Potter. Turn around and bend over.” 

“Why you—” 

“Potter!” Snape barked, charging into the classroom. “Sit back down you dirty little wench! Fifteen house points off of you.” He snapped to everyone else, “Page five hundred sixty nine, now!” 

Harry was tense through the entire period. Malfoy was smirking smugly, recounting everything in slow, poisonous sentences. He sent low, hissing whispers about how hard he’d been, how he had looked, trapped beneath him, how it had all happened… Everything, with great, intricate detail… 

Harry was fuming; everything was swirling madly, cornering him, surrounding him. All the Slytherins’ smirks were the million little bullets razing him, Hermione and Ron’s distance, the Gryffindors’ silence was like a stab in the back. And Nott eyeing him, Blaise licking his lips, Pansy giggling, Malfoy’s hands going up his leg… 

He looked up to meet Snape’s eyes, cold and calculated, yet livid and murderous. He couldn’t stand everyone. He was transported back to a time in his childhood where Dudley had everyone set up against him. Harry blinked back tiny tears and glared back nobly. 

He suddenly wondered how tonight’s detention would turn out, and was arrested with a sudden bout of fear. But he held back; keeping calm, doing his best not to show his emotions. He would not be reduced to tears. He would not get angry. He would not shiver in fear, blush in shame. He could take this, he could bear this, he was supposed to be a leader now, he must be strong… 

But it really wasn’t fair, what was happening to him. He had let his guard down, for one tiny second, and suddenly everything pounced on him. His best friends were angry, the Slytherins were snide, and the Potions Master was cutting him ominous signs of foreboding. Yet he needed all the calm he could get, all the peace and support he could acquire in order to be a leader; in order to be the icon of hope that the scar on his forehead inspired; in order to be the hero everyone was counting on. 

\--- 

**A\N:** I must say I had LOTS of fun doing the citrus part, and that is certainly why I over did it. I’m sorry if some people had to skip paragraphs in order to get it going. Tee hee. Please tell me what you think though, I really did enjoy it. I also apologize for not doing this sooner. This fic is going to turn angsty and very nasty and bitter, HOWEVER, there is a very soft spot in this story too. It is always precious to see a bit of fluff amidst all the pain; a blooming rose amongst rotten leaves, eh? Please hold on and don’t hate the roughness yet— they all have their reasons for their mean streaks. And they won’t always be mean. 

I'm slightly offended, my last chapter garnered a review that stated that my beta and I did not know how to speak English. Well, I'd like to ask for specific corrections, if you please, as that is much more helpful than a mere statement. :D I read last chapter and couldn't find much fault save for a few misspelled words. 

Anyway, thanks to Scorpion Moon Goddess who has, once again, edited this fully and fantastically. 


	6. This Is Love

  
Author's notes: Now Harry must deal with the aftermaths of the Slytherin trick...  


* * *

**V - This is Love**

**A/N:** Hello everyone. I’m back! 

Picture this: you march staunchly towards the jungle, hacking and literally trampling over all obstacles in a mad rampage, with all the speed you could muster because you want to blow _everyone_ away with a great impact. Then suddenly you stop, look around the greenery and exclaim, “Where the hell am I?” 

That, my folks, is _exactly_ where I am. 

Please give me suggestions; my plot is as tight as Dudley’s pants. Thanks for all the people who reviewed; it’s probably the most concrete thing that can make my ass move. Please let them roll in! Criticisms and suggestions just as welcome. Thanks. 

\--- 

_Well, let’s just prove them wrong, Potter. Turn around and bend over._

Draco mentally bashed himself. He couldn’t believe he’d said what he’d said. Sure, he’d been spitting nasty words to Potter through the years, but this time it was coupled by something horrible he really had done. The memories of screaming and slick sweat still haunted his conscience. He could still see Potter’s accusing eyes glaring daggers at him. And why shouldn’t he, thought Draco angrily? 

He winced. He won’t deny it: he had wanted to do it rough on Potter. But he was smarter than that: he wanted Potter repeatedly, and that meant a certain amount of seduction. He really hadn’t expected to fucking _rape_ him. 

True, breaking the boy like that had been exquisite… But now that he got his way, he felt angry at himself. He wanted _more_ from the Gryffindor; he wanted to claim him, to own the lad so he could fuck him senseless whenever he wanted. But now, he’d gone and slipped up, and Potter wouldn’t _dare_ try to be alone with him again. 

He mentally groaned. He should have never agreed to Blaise’s offer. 

But gods, Potter had been the hottest boy alive, burning in that delectable outfit. When Draco had first seen him, he’d had wanted to scream; he didn’t want anyone else ogling at that lusciously scampy wear. It was dangerous if Potter dressed like that everyday: Draco knew he’d go insanely ravenous, having formerly thought that Harry Potter, drudging along sleepily in ruffled clothes was sexy enough… 

“Draco? Are you there?” 

Draco sat upright at the sound of the crisp, cold voice. During breakfast he’d gotten his father’s note telling him to be ready for a talk, so here he was: in front of the common room fire at three in the morning, waiting for his father’s head to appear. 

“I am here, father.” 

“Good. How are your lessons?” 

Draco shrugged. He wished his father got to the point already. 

“Fine.” He replied nonchalantly. Feeling like his father was waiting for more, he added, “Mudblood Granger beat me in Potions today, by mere luck again of course.” 

There was a quick pause. Draco lowered his eyes from his father’s, staring at the splintered wood under the flame. He hated silence from him, coupled with that inscrutable stare, and was glad when the latter finally spoke. 

“I daresay it is not mere luck, since she has outwitted you many times before.” 

Draco could feel his cheeks burn, but had no one to blame but himself. His father continued, undaunted, “How disappointing for a pure-blood, Draco. But that is hardly why I’ve asked an audience from you.” 

“… Is it about the Dark Lord then?” 

“No, you insolent boy!” His father’s nose flared. Draco inched back from the fire which began to spit and crackle. Lucius’ eyes darted around Draco’s surroundings, taking in the emptiness and shadows. He lowered his voice as he continued, “Do not speak of it so casually, here of all places, where Dumbledore can easily—” 

“Dumbledore’s a buffoon,” Muttered Draco, abashed. 

“Dumbledore is intelligent, Draco. Never underestimate what you have yet to find out for yourself.” 

The younger one finally sighed. “Can we get to the point?” 

Lucius’ gray eyes swept over his son with stern disapproval. “How is it that I have raised such a discourteous boy? No matter.” He narrowed his eyes, “I am here to inquire about your recent… acquisition. Harry Potter, I believe?” 

Draco’s veins ran cold. He made sure not to react too violently. He shrugged, leaned back, and muttered, “I fancied a shag.” 

“You hit both Nott and Zabini for it, which is very unlike you. I wonder, if you were aiming for ‘just a shag,’ seeing as even now, you are starting to sweat, your eyes are dilating, and your thoughts are scrambled.” 

“It’s impossible to use Legilimency through fires, father. Please stop trying to trick me again.” 

Lucius lips merged to a hard, thin line. “I am doing no such thing. Merely observing the way you are clutching your hands into fists, and how you look so tentative. It was not merely a fuck, was it, Draco? Your harboring _feelings_ for him, aren’t you?” 

Draco forcefully opened his palms and tried to breathe as evenly as he could. He could feel his stomach clench, but he refused to figure out why. How can his own father accuse him of such silly things? “How can I prove that a shag was all I wanted?” 

“Take him again.” Lucius’ face contorted to a wicked sneer, “then hurt him.” 

There was a stiff silence that befell them. Draco hesitated, and he hated himself for showing it. His father eyed him like a vulture, apparently screening his son for clues on his feelings. Draco was quite hard to read. Even Draco himself identified only one sensation in him: fear. 

Oh yes, Draco was very afraid. 

“Father, you yourself has taught me to be gracious even to the enemy, and to be discreet in my affairs.” 

“How has it changed?” Questioned his father. “I am merely asking you a challenge, Draco. You can be gracious and discreet in breaking his heart. No question. It is not good to cavort with feelings and good intentions. Especially with Potter. Prove to me that you have no feelings for the boy.” 

“Well I really don’t.” 

Draco mentally swore when Lucius’ expression told him he didn’t believe a word. The younger boy swallowed. Inside, his heart felt like an anvil suffocating his lungs, growing larger and heavier to pull him down onto the floor. “Yes father, of course I’ll do it.” 

“Good.” 

\--- 

At the very same night, Harry Potter was marching towards the Potions Laboratory for his detention. A cloud of fear followed him through the dark corridors, and he half-hoped Filch would be around the next corner, and that he’d do something stupid to warrant an arrest. But there was no Filch, not even fat old Mrs. Norris, so he sighed, resigned. He still had seven more detentions with the sadistic bastard. 

“You’re late.” 

Harry entered quietly and shut the door behind him. He glared at his professor obnoxiously. 

“No one’s ever keen on detentions, professor.” 

“Too important to be stuck, shriveling in dungeons, are you?” Snape hissed in anger, and began striding towards Harry. He loomed over the shorter lad. 

Harry said nothing. He had learned from an early age that silence could be a very good answer, or a very bad one. Snape was pacing in front of him, and Harry could feel the anger past the man’s Occlumency shields. Suddenly, Snape turned to him, leaning down at him menacingly. The door was cold as Harry stepped back to lean on it. He stared deep into those hard, searing onyx eyes. 

“Did you enjoy it, Potter?” Snape whispered. “Did you enjoy Malfoy fucking you down onto his mattress? Were you moaning into his ear?” 

Harry felt as if he’d been pushed into a tub of ice water. 

“I— how did you—” 

“—Me?” Snarled Snape, caressing Harry’s cheek with a long, cold finger, “I could even remember it, Potter. I could even remember feeling you, hot and wet, smelling of Fire Whiskey and Fruit Cocktail…” 

Harry shoved his own memories down into the back of his head. Then something in Harry’s mind snapped into place. Green eyes widened. “You performed Legilimency. You stole that memory from him!” 

“I didn’t have to, fool!” Snape roared. “He was practically screaming that memory from his head. It does not take a clever man to catch the thought.” 

“Don’t Death Eaters-in-training know how to do Occlumency, or something?” 

Snape’s lips were thin and straight and grim. The emotions Harry had witnessed suddenly disappeared from his face, leaving him blank but equally terrifying as he stared down at Harry. “Yes. Malfoy is an Occlumens.” 

“Then… how…?” 

Snape’s voice was soft, but somehow it was still vicious. “He wanted me to see it.” 

There was a silence that spoke of betrayal; a silence that somehow encased all the fear and fury Harry was feeling. There was disbelief there too, but as Harry discovered more of Malfoy’s personality, he’d become less disbelieving and more enraged. The blonde’s lustful cry echoed in his head. The gray eyes filled with both passion and scorn haunted his sight, and he pushed Snape away as his anger coursed through him. 

“Well? What is it now? Are you going to rape me next?” He shot at Snape. Snape was carefully masked, and yet Harry noticed that the older man's fingers twitched as he yelled the accusation. Harry couldn’t tell whether Snape knew how much it hurt him. Harry dropped his Occlumency shields and forced his anger and grief to overpower the room. 

He walked dangerously towards the older man, pressing his thoughts of That Night into the chilly, dungeon air. How he’d trusted. He recalled how good Malfoy had been during Care of Magical Creatures. He forced the memory of Blaise and Malfoy discussing payment. The anger was brimming at his throat. He didn’t know whether Snape was looking at these thoughts, and frankly, he didn’t really care. 

“Want to have a ride on Potter the Pothole Pussy?” Growled Harry scathingly, remembering himself more or less along those lines, “Actually, I’m getting tired of it. People messing with me, trying to break me, trying to kill me.” He pointed at his forehead. “Is this what they’re after? Is this what you’re after? A prize worth to claim, is it? What is it you want from me, Snape?” 

He was already screaming, but he didn’t care, either. He had snapped; all the jeers of the Slytherins had come back to him. And worst of all was the knowledge that it was his fault he ended up like this. After all, he had willingly gone to the party. After all, he had willingly trusted. 

He gasped and was suddenly afraid of the tears that ran down his cheeks. He clutched at his chest and glared at Snape hard. “I don’t care what you’re after. Take it from me. I don’t care. You’re a fucker. You’re all fuckers. I can barely think with all of you breathing down my back. Fancy a shag? Go and take one. Want me to get you off? Suck you? Here on the table, or on the floor? Want me on my knees, professor?” 

“Do not tempt me.” Snape’s tone was flat, emotionless. 

Harry stayed silent, and discreetly wiped his tears with his sleeve. 

“Somehow I expected that sex would be the first on your list when we’re at detention,” The boy muttered bitterly. 

Snape took it to stride, eyeing the boy before walking towards the door. 

“It was.” 

Harry laughed, a dry, hard laugh of someone coping, someone coping with fate and what the few days had wrought upon his life. Someone coping and failing miserably. “What changed your mind then?” 

The Gryffindor held the Potions Master’s eye; Harry tried to pry into the older man’s Occlumency shields but they were as thick as stone walls. Somehow, though, Snape’s fearsome aura had disappeared. Somehow, something between them had changed. 

“Mr. Potter.” Said Snape smoothly, “I want you to clean all these vials and bottles by the end of this evening. Surrender your wand to me before you begin. You may leave once all the bottles are spotless.” 

He waited only for Harry to give his wand, and then… 

He left. 

\--- 

The morning sun pierced into Harry’s eyes as he lifted wearily from bed. A quick glance told him that Ron was already downstairs, and he mentally swore. He had told himself last night, as he was wiping all the vials one by one, that if he needed anything, it was Ron’s friendship. He needed everything to go back to the way it was. He needed to set things straight. Last night, he had come back from detention to an empty common room. The thought saddened him immensely. 

Seamus strode towards his own bed with a towel slung over his shoulders. 

“Oh hey, Harry, what's up?” 

“What time is it?” Harry was rubbing his eyes. 

“Still early. Nev and Dean are already downstairs. Wanna come down with me?” 

“Where’s Ron?” 

Seamus shrugged. Harry stood and began taking some robes and his own towel from the chair beside him. “Go ahead, Seamus. I’m gonna take a bath.” 

“Right you are, Gryffindor Sex God.” 

Harry blushed, stubbed his foot and swore colorfully, with Seamus laughing behind him. 

After his cold, refreshing bath, Harry arrived into the common rooms and found no one there. He checked his watch; breakfast had just started. The deserted common room was odd, usually there were at least a few stragglers hurrying about with him. 

He was about to walk to the portrait hole but thought better of it, and steered himself towards some couches. He felt a little apprehensive today. Maybe it was due to his little tantrum back at the Potions Laboratory, but he felt so… weak. Like sleep had drained him instead of rejuvenating him. He sat down on the couch, sorting through his thoughts. 

It was quite an understatement to say that Harry was riled from last night. It was wonder that his plight hadn’t messed with his sleep. He just couldn’t figure Snape out. One night, he was crafty and cruel; wanting to get into Harry’s pants, and the next, the Professor wanted nothing from him. It was like a game, a game Harry couldn’t fathom, and Harry hated it. 

“Harry? Is that you?” 

Harry turned towards the soft voice. Hermione made her way towards Harry, and took the couch beside him. She looked tired and miserable, as if she hadn’t got a wink last night. 

“Are you alright, Herm?” Harry made a move to touch her hand, but Hermione recoiled and looked away. Her eyes had a glazed over expression that Harry had never seen on her before. Hermione put her hands on her face. Her voice was wobbled in defeat. 

“I just… I feel out of sorts today… I…I…” 

Harry kept quiet, but his eyes never left his friend. Hermione sighed loudly, and Harry could see tears running down her hands. He offered her his handkerchief. She peered at it through the gaps of her fingertips before taking them from his hand. She blew her nose with it before muttering an apology. 

“Harry, I’m sorry Ron’s been acting like… I didn’t mean to side with him, but I guess, if I left you alone, it was actually what I did…” 

Harry nodded wordlessly; he didn’t want to interrupt her. 

“…Ron and I broke up today, and it’s a real break up this time, and I thought I’d have been glad to be free… He’s been acting so strange lately, and I can’t understand why… But now that he’s gone… I don’t know what to do… Like I can’t remember life without him.” 

“Oh, Herm…” Harry slowly made a move towards her. Hermione didn’t flinch. He embraced her gently. She was shivering. 

“…We… We fought over a lot of things, but it was never nasty, you know? It was always fun. He could always crack jokes. But now, it’s not like that anymore. These couple of months… It was like we were just pretending to be in love… Because we didn’t know what else to do… So I…” 

She began sobbing onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry held her, feeling quite uncomfortable. He was never good at soothing anyone. No matter how much he wanted to help, he always seemed to say the wrong thing. Hermione didn’t take it against his silence, but Harry felt like Hermione needed something more. 

Where did this place him? Thought Harry selfishly. How was he supposed to fix things with Ron when his other best friend needed him? 

Harry could understand Hermione perfectly. In fact, he felt the same grief she was harboring. All along, it had always been the trio, and now that it wasn’t, he didn’t know where to go. Had they been feeling strains all this time? Had they all been pretending to be friends, because they didn’t know what else to do? 

“And...” she began, then glanced at Harry, and looked away. 

Harry leaned towards her, “What is it?” 

It suddenly occurred to him that Hermione had been behaving strange lately. She had missed lessons, and Harry swore that every time she was within five meters of Professor Morris, she would act like a frightened squirrel. And she had been so tired lately. Ron must have been arguing very often with her. 

“I, I think I’ll ask McGonagall if I could have an absence today.” Said Hermione abruptly. With that look in her eye, Harry was sure she was hiding something from him, but decided that an interrogation could wait. Hermione was barely able to gather herself as it was. 

“Of course,” Nodded Harry. “I’ll come with you.” 

“No… I want to have some time alone.” 

“Hermione…” 

“Harry, please. I’ll be alright. You know me, Harry. I wouldn’t do anything stupid.” 

Harry looked at her. She was fatigued. She was weak. She didn’t want to argue. Harry felt all this without Legilimency; she was emanating it with her whole soul. Harry sighed and kissed her on her forehead. 

“Okay.” 

\--- 

Thoughts of Ron kept flooding into Harry’s head as he walked moodily towards the Great Hall. It wasn’t until he jumped over the trick stair that he saw Ginny walking up to the fifth year Charm’s classroom. 

“Gin…” 

She turned and looked at him, and Harry was hit by a wave of deijavu as Ginny reflected the same expression as Hermione. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, stopping her by a hand on her shoulder. 

Ginny shook her head, her long red hair flowing behind her. Her face was set to a determined frown, as if she was keeping a grip over her emotions. “Luna. Won’t talk to me. Broke her promise and trust, she said. Told me she was angry with me.” 

Harry couldn’t believe how awful this day could get. “How do you feel about it?” 

Ginny looked at him as though he was an idiot. “Horrible. Worst part is that it's really my fault. I told her I’ll be there with her. And I ended up fucking with Alladella.” Suddenly, Harry saw a crack in Ginny’s resolve. Ginny put her hands on her face. “Oh god I can’t believe it. Luna’s never been mad at me before.” 

Harry gently pried Ginny’s hands from her face, which reminded him uncannily of Hermione. He hugged Ginny tightly. She hugged back with equal force, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Was there something between you and Luna?” 

Ginny was silent for a while. Harry could feel the cold air from the Great Hall moving to the corridor. She shook her head onto Harry’s chest, but muttered, “Yes… Yes, there was…” 

“She’ll forgive you…” Murmured Harry into her hair, thinking about Ron. 

It was after a few moments that Ginny finally muttered aloud. “You better get your breakfast, you idiot. And you’re squishing me.” 

Harry released her and examined the redhead. Ginny’s eyes were red, but she was still had a determined frown. Harry turned and melodramatically sighed, placing the back of his hand on his forehead. “Ahh, what fate weaves for us.” 

“Shut up.” Barked Ginny, as she marched away. Harry noticed with satisfaction that he had made Ginny smile. 

The rest of the walk towards the Great Hall was uneventful, almost as much as the breakfast itself. Ron was nowhere to be found, and neither was Luna, whom he both wanted to talk to. He ate with Seamus quietly, and tried to get Snape’s attention. Funnily enough, Snape was avoiding his eye, no matter how hard Harry poked at the man’s Occlumency Shields. 

Harry felt like a twig that had fallen into a wild river, having no choice but to follow the current wherever it led. He also felt that the family he had secured for himself in Hogwarts was slowly drifting away. He wanted Ron back; he wanted to understand why he had left in the first place. He wondered if Hermione was okay, wondered if Ginny was resolving her scrape, wondered what Luna was thinking. He was also wondering why the back of his head was prickling madly, as he drudged on towards Divination. 

“Lonely, are we, Potter?” 

Harry knew that snide voice anywhere. His mood plummeted; even the simple thought of Slytherins made him feel like there were ants crawling up his sleeve. He swirled around menacingly. Malfoy put his hands up in a mock submissive gesture. 

“Wow, heel there, Scar Face, I just wanted to talk.” 

Harry stared at him for a moment, both incredulous and angry, before turning and walking away. Malfoy scowled as he realized Harry was not going to acknowledge him, and he marched towards the corner where Harry had disappeared. 

“Look here, Potty—” 

But when he looked left, there was not a trace of the Gryffindor. Malfoy swore. 

\---- 

Harry’s period after Divination was Care of Magical Creatures, and he didn’t want to go. Divination proved to be disastrous. The sixth years had Trelawney, which wasn’t much good news. And in the stifling, musty tower, he’d tried to partner himself with Ron, but Ron had already paired up with Dean. Seamus became Harry’s partner instead. 

Harry was distracted because he had been observing Ron all throughout the lesson. Trelawney, obviously annoyed that he wasn’t paying attention, predicted his death ten times more than normal. Harry didn’t give a Skrewt shit. 

Ron looked like a zombie. He was quietly doing his work, usually spacing out at the crystal ball he was supposed to examine. Not once did he crack a joke. Harry thought he had seen the redhead shed a few tears, but Ron was discreet and tight-lipped that even Dean overlooked this. 

When Harry had approached Ron after class, Ron acted as if Harry wasn’t even there. Harry even tried yelling into the redhead’s ear, but Ron just looked at him. Looked at him with empty eyes. Harry felt as if he had betrayed Ron, but how could that be, when it was Ron who was acting so peculiarly? Thoroughly pissed and defeated, Harry made his way down to Care of Magical Creatures alone. Now he was going to face his second task: Malfoy. 

He wanted nothing to do with Malfoy. He was determined not to let him under his skin again, especially after realizing the infuriating things he’d done behind Harry’s back. Ignoring him was by far, the hardest thing Harry had ever done, especially since that was _exactly_ what Ron was doing to him. Talk about irony. 

“Alright, Harry? You’re looking peeved.” 

Harry looked up and stared at those wonderful golden eyes. Reno Morris looked concerned, but Harry was too annoyed to care. The morning sunshine did not reflect the mood in which he was in. Harry shook him off. “I just need to get through the morning’s lessons.” 

“Ah yes, you have a Quidditch match this afternoon, right?” 

Harry nodded as he brushed past the professor, towards his griffin’s pen. He should’ve gotten a punishment for the impolite way he was acting, but he received none. Professor Morris acted as if it was no problem at all, of which he was grateful. 

Ron had slunk into his own pen far away from Harry. Goyle was looking threateningly at him, but Ron ignored the hulk and dove straight to work. Harry sighed. 

“Trouble with Gryffindors?” Said a sly voice, as Harry entered their paddock. Harry willfully ignored the Slytherin, and petted their griffin casually instead. The blonde’s fingers caressed his cheek. Harry ducked from the touch. 

“Shove off, Malfoy. It’s none of your business.” 

Harry sat himself down on the grass with his back to the blonde. The griffin was his calf size, and was currently pouncing on his hand. To Harry’s view, their griffin was quite energetic for its scrawny size. The rustling of clothes told him Malfoy too, was sitting on the ground. 

“Did anyone tell you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?” Malfoy was moving closer. He was crawling towards where Harry sat playing with the griffin. Harry burned in annoyance. He remembered Malfoy crawling onto the bed. 

“Please shut up, Malfoy. I’m really not in the mood.” 

Malfoy chuckled, made a move to pet the griffin, but instead caressed Harry’s thigh. “What’s wrong, Potter? Don’t you think I can… help?” 

“No.” Harry shoved him off. Anger was burning in his very gut as the memories started to pour. _I’m going to fuck you raw._

“Malfoy, I’m warning you to get away from me.” 

Malfoy was inching closer; Harry could feel the warm breath tingling on his cheek. Harry eyed the griffin stubbornly. It was still too new to walk straight. It was just hobbling beyond Harry’s leg. 

Malfoy’s voice was lower. “But it’s so hard to get away from you…” _Who have you got fucking you? I’ll kill the little bitch._

“Malfoy…” The world was swirling to one of memory; of dark shadows and pumping bass, and of something big and hard thrusting into him. 

“Please let me fuck you again, Potter…” 

_Let’s just prove them wrong, Potter. Turn around and bend over._

Harry’s fury topped his head. With a savage swing, he knocked the grin off Malfoy’s face with a punch to the nose. Malfoy gasped, reeling back, catching the blood flowing from his nose with his hand. Harry never knew he could feel glad at the sight of blood. 

Their griffin started squealing, backing up from them. 

“Potter!” Malfoy cried, giving abandon and flinging himself on Harry. Harry fell to the ground with the Slytherin on top of him, beating him with blows on his head. Harry managed to parry most, but he could feel the bruises on his face as he struck out Malfoy in the ribs. Malfoy recoiled, and Harry rolled on top of the Slytherin, hitting the blonde with all the anger he could muster. 

“Stop this at once!” 

Harry was hauled off Malfoy. He gasped for air, noticing for the first time that there was blood on his face too. Professor Morris looked taller than usual, with an intimidating glare towards both of them. Harry winced as he tried to move. 

“Professor!” Gasped Malfoy, his face covered with hideous blood. “He started it! He hit me! I was just talking to him—“ 

“Stop this! This is the worst behavior I’ve ever seen in my class and I will not tolerate it!” Sparks of green and silver crackled near the professor. His voice was cold and snappish. “Mister Potter, do you really dislike the pairing so much?” 

“Yes.” Hissed Harry, baring his teeth at the blonde. He noticed that everyone in the class was crowding around them, but he didn’t care. He only saw red. “I can’t take his arrogant smirk a second longer.” 

There was a look of hurt in Malfoy’s eyes, which Harry missed. The blonde ducked his head, feeling more sticky blood run down his chest. 

Professor Morris walked up and hauled Harry to his feet. His voice was cold. “I am so disappointed in you, Mr. Potter.” He said, looking down at him, “I really believed you had more honor than this.” Harry stiffened, but Professor Morris turned to Malfoy. 

“Mr. Malfoy, to the infirmary. Potter, into the tent.” 

The professor strode towards where the other students gathered. Draco was already limping his way to the infirmary, livid and embarrassed, refusing help even from Crabbe and Goyle. 

“I want the class to continue observing your griffins. Miss Lavander and Miss Parkinson, please handle Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter’s pup. Once class is over, I would like you all to make sure the griffins are safely in the paddocks.” 

\--- 

“Why is it you always get into trouble?” 

“I don’t know. Usually it’s because of the stupid lightning bolt I got pasted on my forehead.” 

Morris said nothing. Harry walked around the tent, noticing how very homey it was inside, looking more like a comfortable English cottage than the dirty, drabby circus tent he’d viewed from outside. 

“What was it about honor, Professor Morris?” Asked Harry quietly, for inside he’d been stabbed by those very words. Professor Morris sighed. 

“Sit down, Potter, and let me take a look at those wounds.” 

Harry obeyed, resting down upon a green chintz pouf as the professor took a couch with wide winged armrests. The candles about the rooms flickered merrily. 

“I hope you know I’m docking off house points, and placing you in detention.” 

“Whoopie.” Said Harry sarcastically. “Why didn’t you let me to the infirmary too?” 

Reno Morris looked almost affronted. “Do you honestly believe I am stupid enough to think you and Mr. Malfoy would be alive by the time you get there?” 

Harry didn’t reply. The man had a point. 

Reno Morris chuckled quietly before brandishing a polished wand from his dark green cloak, and stroked it almost lovingly. “Dragonblood and phoenix feather, Harry. Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“Dragonblood? It’s made of dragon blood?” Asked Harry incredulously. The professor laughed. Harry was amazed at the youthfulness of his glee. 

“No, not at all. Dragonblood is a very ancient tree, almost extinct nowadays, actually. This wand is a… er… special combination.” With a wave of his wand, Harry could feel his bruises tingle. He touched his face. They were all gone. 

“Thank you,” was all he could manage to say. The professor eyed him for a moment. Abruptly, he spoke. 

“Honor, Harry, may be cliché-d as: to stand up and protect what you believe in. But tell me... Don’t you think the Death Eaters are standing up for what they believe in?” 

Harry blinked, as Reno Morris paused to place his wand in the voluminous folds of his clothing. Then the older man continued, “If you get my drift, this philosophy would make Voldemort quite honorable in killing muggles and torturing wizards, because it is simply what he thinks is right. This kind of honor is on both sides, in mostly everyone, making it…well, less special. But yes, perhaps this sort of honor is _real_ , a paradox just like humans, and therefore just as… tainted.” 

Reno Morris stood up and took the jug of water that was seated primly on an end table. He took two glasses from a cabinet and filled them with graceful ease. He turned back to Harry and handed him a glass. 

“No, Harry,” Said Reno Morris, his eyes staring deeply into Harry’s bright green ones, “There is another kind of honor, and this is what I am speaking of. This honor, I must say, can be stupid sometimes, but it is purer than most. 

“Honor for the one who lets others do to him, what he would never do to anyone else. 

“Do you understand, Gryffindor boy? Have you ever been hurt, but never lashed back? You are a powerful lad, and you know it. But by not biting back like a common animal, you have shown honor. You would rather let them hurt you as they will, but never hurt back in the crude manner that they do. This honor, Harry, is not to let anyone suffer for your own lack of control.” 

Then the professor did something awfully strange. He touched Harry’s face, and stroked it with his fingertips tenderly. Harry could feel a note of longing in his voice, but Harry was not afraid. A question slipped from his lips before he could even realize what it was. 

“Who are you, Reno Morris?” 

Morris smirked. There was a moment when Harry could have sworn the professor was battling against himself. But it was gone a second too soon. “I am your friend, for now.” Said the older man, “Slytherins are known to only ally themselves with the more powerful. Many suspect that of you.” 

Harry laughed. “What happened to all that ‘honor’ rubbish?” 

Morris shrugged. “I, a Slytherin, barely need it. You, a Gryffindor, are nothing without it. Or so the sayings go.” 

“Then how is it a Slytherin knows so much Gryffindor ideals?” 

“Quite the sharp mind, Master Potter.” Morris looked a little sad suddenly. Harry noticed, for he had known sadness rather well. Reno’s voice was still melodious, but instead of it being uplifting, the voice seemed to be quite heavy. “A special friend once told me about honor. And his goddamn philosophy has haunted me ever since.” 

\--- 

Harry was walking his way to the Quidditch pitch, having had his lunch with Reno. The professor had warned him not to call him by first name in class, but outside it, he was allowed to address the professor as his equal. Harry was surprised to learn that their mentality weren’t that different, although at odd times, Harry couldn’t help feeling that Reno was much older than his years. Still, he’d had a good lunch and a good talk, so he shouldn’t complain. 

After debating about it thoroughly, Harry and Reno had decided that Harry should keep his pairing with Malfoy. True, Harry had wanted to kill him, but as what Reno said, the griffin they were raising together would be looking at both of them as equal parents, and switching one could prove disastrous. Reno also said it would do well to challenge Harry’s honor. Harry had rolled his eyes. 

Oddly enough, they also got to discuss Hagrid. Reno and Hagrid supposedly had a spat, but about what Harry couldn’t discover, for Reno was quite tight-lipped. And as if Reno felt Harry was getting too suspicious, he’d announced that lunch was over, and that Harry had to get ready for the Slytherin-Gryffindor match. Reno said he’d be praying for Harry’s defeat, and Harry had scoffed. 

“Hello there, Harry. I knew I shouldn’t have dropped Care of Magical Creatures! I heard you gave Malfoy quite a doozy!” Harry laughed at Seamus as he entered the locker rooms. Seamus went on. “I can just feel that this game is going to be explosive!” 

He didn’t think of it much at the time, but as the team finally strode outside to face the sunlight and the cheers, Harry felt uneasy. When the Quidditch whistle was blown, all Harry could think of was how Malfoy had glared at him dangerously from the Slytherin end. Seamus’ words hung like an ominous shroud. 

Harry looked down. Below, Ron was already turning red from the taunts of the Slytherins. Ginny was fighting to get the Quaffle back with Sarah at her side. Malfoy darted past him dangerously. “It’s a wonder Professor Morris allowed you to play, Scar Face.” 

“It’s a wonder you didn’t complain your way into a rematch.” 

Harry thought Malfoy’s nose was well fixed, and all his bruises and cuts had disappeared, like his own. Madam Pomphrey must have been livid. 

Harry dove down and did a feint, which Malfoy followed. Malfoy snarled when he realized the trick. 

“Fuck you, Gryffindor pussy!” 

Harry whirled around him. His broom scraped by Malfoy’s blonde head. “Sadly, a pussy you can’t live without. I would know.” 

In Harry’s opinion, it went on like this for hours. Harry wasn’t sure how the game below was doing; he was too busy fighting with Malfoy. They kept pushing each other as they searched for the Snitch, often throwing scathing remarks. It was hard to catch the Slytherin off guard. And his taunts were becoming more personal. 

“Did you know that the greasy old bat’s lusting after you, Potter?” shot Malfoy. Harry hoped feverishly that this conversation was not heard from anyone below. He cocked his head at the blonde. “Better than the greasy old ferret, you know.” 

Malfoy, infuriated at the remark, lunged at him and nearly knocked Harry off his broom. Harry eyed the surroundings carefully. There was not a twinkle from the Snitch. The fight was so high up now, a little more and they would be reaching the clouds. Harry’s eardrums hurt. 

“Did you know, Harry?” Malfoy suddenly sneered, rising higher than the Gryffindor, so that Harry had to look up. “They say that Half-Giant oaf’s dead.” 

Everything seemed to have frozen. Harry tried his best not to exhibit his shock. Could the blonde possibly be right? He refused to take the bait, but his heart was cold with fear. “Shut up, Malfoy.” 

“It’s true,” Said Malfoy gleefully, rising higher and looking down at him with a mock-pity expression. “Saw it in the papers. What in Merlin’s name was he doing up in the mountains, anyway?” 

Suddenly, Harry saw a slight twinkle far above Malfoy’s head. True enough; a small golden nugget was hovering higher than the Slytherin. Ignoring the painful fear in his gut, and the scream in his head willing Hagrid’s death to be a hoax, Harry zoomed towards it. 

Malfoy, thinking he was being attacked, swerved to the left and watched Harry rocket up, racing towards the… shit. 

With a cry, Malfoy followed, and they rose up higher, and higher, until all they could see of the game were tiny dots. They could no longer hear even the faint rumble of the commentary, nor the hollering of the crowd. The sunlight grazed them as they swept up into the sky. Hogwarts was getting smaller and the air was thinner, Harry noted, but Malfoy was catching up… The blonde lifted a hand, hopeful of the Snitch, while banging his shoulder to Harry, causing the Gryffindor to swerve. 

Harry, furious and filled with adrenaline, pushed back at Malfoy. He felt satisfaction as Malfoy significantly slowed. Harry’s hand clasped around the Snitch a moment later, but when he glanced down, all feelings of triumph vanished. 

Malfoy was falling, his broom askew. Falling down quickly into the tiny speck that was Hogwarts. A height that was impossible to survive. Harry’s eyes went wide. 

He had never put more faith in his Firebolt then at this very moment, as he dove straight down, willing himself to go faster and faster towards the ground, trying to reach the boy that had earlier taunted him. Harry pressed his body close to his broom, thinking, ‘I’m not going to make it,’ but his head was racing for an idea… 

Yes. His idea might work. It might not, too, but he had to try. 

He waited for the perfect opportunity, his broom as close to Malfoy as was possible, and with a grunt, he pounced off it and onto Malfoy’s body, slamming into him. He wrapped his arms around the Slytherin’s legs, and the momentum he’d created caused Malfoy’s fall to plunge towards the left. Harry distinctly felt his own broom slipping far from them but he’d done his part, and he hoped he was correct. It took a few more moments, with the rushing sound of wind and the cutting fear enveloping them; Harry held Malfoy tighter. He closed his eyes. 

Both boys dove disastrously into the lake, causing a gigantic splash, the biting cold water slapping their face hard and raw. Inside, Harry had rejoiced; he’d been correct after all. Pushing Malfoy towards the left had earned them both a softer landing than the Quidditch Pitch. 

The force was so strong that they were still going deeper into the dark water; he’d let go of Malfoy, but before he could try to swim up, his head hit something hard and painfully solid. There was a screaming pain; he saw his own blood swirling around the murky water and then, slowly, there was darkness… 

Darkness. 

\--- 

The door shut close quietly. 

“Severus…” 

“I can’t believe him!” Raved the Potions Master, slamming the glass onto the table. The Sherry drink sloshed over the rim, splattering the table and the floor. Snape barely noticed. “The stupid Gryffindor prat! The irrational, immature, cocksure idiot! The—” 

Dumbledore sat himself on a chair and interjected calmly, “Severus, he saved your student’s life.” 

“He pushed my student off in the first place!” Snape was pacing angrily up and down the carpet. Dumbledore eyed him wisely. 

“Draco Malfoy is hardly innocent in their feud, Severus Snape. I urge you to calm down. They are both alright.” The tone in the old man’s voice was stern enough, but Snape breathed hard and whirled around the headmaster. 

“Both? Last I saw, Potter was—” 

“Young Mr. Malfoy had brought him up unconscious, yes.” Dumbledore interrupted, standing up again, finally losing patience. He strode towards Snape. “Mr. Potter has lost a lot of blood. But we have given him the Blood Replenishing potion. Poppy has been screaming all evening, mostly into my ears, but she had mended most of Potter’s head. The unconsciousness was caused from lack of oxygen, not the wound.” 

At this, Severus finally found silence. He sat down onto the chair Dumbledore had just vacated, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The room grew quiet for a moment. 

“You seem to have lost _your_ head at Harry’s predicament.” The headmaster ventured, looking around the sitting room and picking up the Sherry bottle. 

“Hold your tongue, Dumbledore. I am in no mood to hear it.” 

Dumbledore didn’t say another word about his thoughts. He read the label of the alcoholic beverage, sniffed it once or twice, then placed it back. He sighed audibly before he turned to face the Potions Master. 

“Have you completed the potion, Severus?” 

Snape seemed like he was spacing out. “Almost.” 

Content with the monotone reply, Dumbledore nodded and strode simply towards the door. As he opened the handle, Snape looked up. 

“Wait.” 

Dumbledore turned, and Snape fancied he saw a twinkle in the old man’s eye, but he decided to ignore it. Dumbledore smiled kindly. “Yes, Severus?” 

There was a small silence, and Snape was staring hard at the Headmaster, masking all his emotions, though Dumbledore seemed to know what he was thinking anyway. Damn the man for being so clever. 

“Is he conscious now?” 

Dumbledore smiled warmly again, and moved out the door. 

“He will be, Severus. He will be.” 

\--- 

Harry awoke to silence and moonlight peeping into the window curtains. The smell of potions and crisp beddings told him he was in the infirmary again. His head was heavy and wrapped, and he was bandaged in numerous places. He moved stiffly to the right, only to find that a certain blonde was staring at him. 

“Are you alright?” Harry croaked, saying the first thing that came into his mind. It occurred to him a moment later that he shouldn't ask his fucking rapist that. He inwardly cringed. Malfoy, however, looked amazed. 

“I can’t believe _you’d_ be saying that to _me._ ” 

Harry tried to sit up, but failed miserably. He didn’t want to ask Malfoy for help, (shuddered at the thought) so relaxed back and stared up at the ceiling instead. 

“What happened?” 

“Well,” Said Malfoy, leaning back on his own bed now, and staring at the ceiling as well, “You had a real knocker on your head, Potter. Down at the lake, there was this inanely gargantuan rock sticking out of the ground, which you decided to hit, with the full blunt part of your head. You hit the rest of the rock with your body. A miracle you’re still breathing.” 

Harry hmmed, and stayed still in quiet reflection. The pain was so far out to even remember. He noticed Malfoy was watching him again. He felt quite self conscious, then realized there was something moving near his hand. He raised it up and gazed incredulously at the Snitch, flapping its wet wings half-heartedly around his fingertips. 

“Yeah, the Medi-witches were trying to pry that out of your claw-like grip.” Muttered Malfoy, “Honestly, Potter, I think they were ready to chop your whole hand off.” 

Harry cracked a humored grin and let his hand down. He felt that he was missing something important, and that it was just at the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes and felt himself slipping into a dream… but a voice pulled him out of it. Draco was still talking. 

“—and the Medi-witches were about to bring you to St. Mungo’s if you weren’t going to surface from your sleep sometime soon—” 

“—Draco?” 

Malfoy seemed to have hesitated. He couldn’t remember if Potter had ever called him by his first name. “Yeah?” 

“Shut up. I’m having a headache.” 

Malfoy looked almost abashed. “Hmph.” Was all he said. Harry fell asleep with a smug grin on his face. 

\---- 

Sometime in the night, Harry heard the faintest creak of the door, opening cautiously. On the bed beside him, Malfoy was steadily breathing, and there was nothing else but the flapping of the Snitch’s wings in the room. Harry thought he recognized the tall figure at the door. 

“Professor Dumbledore?” Harry whispered. 

“Harry.” Was all the old man said, and he entered the room and shut the door silently. He went to sit on Harry’s bedside. “Are you feeling better?” 

“A little hungry,” Said Harry, smiling. “And I don’t know what to do with this.” 

Dumbledore stared curiously at the Snitch Harry was holding up. Taking it from the Gryffindor’s hand, Dumbledore said, “Ah, yes, Madam Hooch will be looking for that. You have a firm grip, Harry.” 

“And a firm head, from the looks of it.” 

Dumbledore chuckled quietly. “Would you like to eat…?” 

“No, no… I think I’ll have a heavy breakfast tomorrow.” Harry didn’t want to hassle himself now. Some parts still felt particularly sore. 

Dumbledore nodded wordlessly, then glanced at the sleeping figure beside them. “Mr. Malfoy was near out of wits when he brought you up from the lake. I believe he thought you were dead.” 

Harry frowned at this piece of information. It did not seem like it was Malfoy’s personality. “I thought he’d have wanted me dead.” 

“Oh,” Said Dumbledore, “You will be surprised at what people really want, Harry. Usually, they also surprise themselves.” 

Something about death ticked at Harry. There was something he was trying to remember. “Professor… Malfoy said something to me up in the air… Something… About someone in the papers…” 

At this, Dumbledore looked straight at Harry. His blue eyes were gleaming against the moonlight. Just as Harry remembered what it was, Dumbledore spoke of it. 

“Is it about Hagrid?” 

The same cold feeling gripped his heart once again. Harry couldn’t help gasp, “Please, please don’t tell me he’s…” 

“He’s not, Harry. He survived.” Dumbledore looked suddenly tense. Harry was trying to sit up. “Professor, what happened—?” 

“Shh, quiet,” Dumbledore whispered, urging him to lie back down. Harry obeyed, but his green, luminous eyes were wide. Dumbledore whispered quietly, so quietly that even Harry, who was right beside him, had trouble hearing. 

“He’s been attacked by werewolves and a band of Death Eaters while up in the mountains. Apparently, they thought they killed him, because they sent up the Dark Mark. He’s in St. Mungo’s now, recovering. Tonks and Molly are there, guarding him.” 

“So… he’s alright?” Breathed Harry. He was wondering if Hagrid had been bitten by a werewolf. Dumbledore apparently caught the thought. 

“Half-giants,” Whispered Dumbledore, “like Hagrid, have a special protection on their skin. I’m afraid Olympia wasn’t so lucky, though. She died from a bite to the throat… And Hagrid is taking it awfully.” 

At Harry’s stricken expression, Dumbledore sighed. “We should talk about this some other time. All you should remember is that Hagrid is okay.” 

Harry nodded, willing to let go of the gruesome news. He felt weak and drained. So much has happened in such little time. Dumbledore held his cold hand, and peered closer towards Harry. “I give you permission to visit him when you are well enough. And tell Madam Pomphrey I also give permission for your friends to visit you tomorrow, so long as they do not tire you out. Your lessons with me, Professor Morris and professor Snape will be delayed indefinitely, because of everything that has transpired.” 

“Thank you, professor.” 

“No, Harry,” Said Dumbledore, “Thank you.” 

Dumbledore looked away and let go of Harry’s hand, but made no sign on leaving. He seemed to be debating with himself. Harry found this very peculiar. 

“Is something the matter, professor?” 

Dumbledore was about to speak, but sighed instead. He looked at Harry, seemed to appraise him, then stated, “I’m in a little of a predicament, my boy. May I ask your opinion?” 

Harry shrugged, then realized it hurt him. Fighting down the wince, he said, “Sure. Of course. What is it?” 

Dumbledore shifted in his seat. Eyeing Malfoy’s even breathing, he whispered, “Professor Snape and I were supposed to introduce you to your first test aphrodisiac tonight. Incidentally, its purpose was to make your body heal faster.” 

Harry was just staring at him. 

Dumbledore continued, “After your accident, I was half convinced you should take it right away, in case it does work and you would heal quickly.” 

“And… if it doesn’t?” Harry asked. 

“Well,” replied Dumbledore, “If it doesn’t, it does no harm but aggravated hormones for a night, I suppose. Although,” Dumbledore paused for a moment to regard the blonde beside them, and then his face grew a little uneasy, “I suppose I shouldn't ask you when there is someone else in the infirmary.” 

Harry, too, glanced at the blonde's form, and shivered, “Trust me, I wouldn't touch him if he paraded naked in front of me. Excuse the expression, sir.” 

Dumbledore nodded, but was still looking worried, “I was debating on this rather tartly because you are, on normal circumstances, in no position to take an aphrodisiac. However, in abnormal circumstances, it is also the best time to prove my theory of your body’s reactions towards these potions. So you see my dilemma.” 

Harry sighed quietly and thought it over. In actuality, he felt a strange sort of drainage, which he chalked up to his injuries. He didn’t like the feeling at all, and wished his injuries away. What was the harm? 

Harry could not believe he was blushing as he said this. “Uhm… Well, I guess I can take it tonight, rather than having to wonder if it really does work… Besides, I don’t reckon I’ll have much fun hanging out here for a whole week or something. Better hope it works, professor.” 

Dumbledore chuckled, but looked a little doubtful, “Should I keep you monitored?” 

With that remark, Harry reddened further. He didn’t like the thought of having an erection he couldn’t touch, and having no way towards the bathroom on his own. Stupid injuries. “No thanks. I… Er… I mean, it’s really humiliating… if, you know…” 

Dumbledore chuckled further, then stopped when Malfoy shifted in his sleep. They stared at the blonde for a while until they were sure he was still dreaming. 

“It’s up to you, Harry,” Said Dumbledore, standing up and fixing Harry’s blanket, “You can just keep it in that cubby if you change your mind. I’ll come to collect the bottle either way in the morning. Goodnight, my dear boy. And I must acknowledge that clever brain of yours for saving Draco’s life.” 

Harry took the tiny vial from the professor. “Always the Gryffindor.” 

Dumbledore was already walking out of the infirmary, waving the flapping Snitch. “You say that as if it were a bad thing,” He muttered, amused as he shut the door. 

Harry quickly downed the potion like a shot and hid the bottle inside the cubby under his bedside table. He hoped he could manage to fall asleep before the effects would start, so hastily got comfortable and started counting from one, two, three, four, five… 

\---- 

_One sweet song is all it takes To sigh and fall into disgrace One sweet song is all it takes To fall in love and savor days Until you find something’s wrong Your lover tricked you all along One sweet song is all it takes To sigh and fall into disgrace_ \---- 

Harry was touching soft hair. 

Hands were about his naked chest. His own were stripping the boy below him. Malfoy moaned loudly, his gray eyes filled with lust and passion. Harry was on top, arching as soft lips trailed down his neck. Malfoy pulled him closer. 

“Potter…” 

Harry barely remembered getting into Malfoy’s bed. What was he doing? Was he really this desperate, to leap into bed with anyone convenient? But his body ruled him once more, (though a part of him wasn't really resisting as hard as he would like) and he noticed, with a vague sense of dread, that not only was his carnal wishes appeased, but also a deeper part of him that had nothing to do with lust. He refused to explore this observation. 

Awaking from sleepy stupor, Harry realized with a strange sense of wonder that his bindings were gone, and that he was naked. Malfoy responded reverently as Harry rocked against him. He bit down at the blonde’s neck, and Malfoy gasped, arching. 

Malfoy drew them closer. He was delirious with pleasure and amazement. Harry kissed Malfoy’s collar bone, and licked his way lower to Malfoy’s abdomen. Malfoy was stifling cries, biting his lip. He was urging Harry down. 

Harry took his time, wondering, in the deepest part of his head, whether it was all a dream; dream or no he lapped at Malfoy’s straining erection, and Malfoy withered rather helplessly on his bed. “Please…” The blonde kept whispering. Harry licked the tip slowly, before taking him into his mouth. 

The power he had over Malfoy was enormous. Malfoy was at the very edge of his limit. Harry knew, Harry could feel it in the other boy’s excitement. He continued lazily, emitting cries from the boy under him. Right before Malfoy’s crescendo, Harry cruelly paused, withdrew, then lay languidly against Malfoy, so their erections rubbed each other sensually. Malfoy gasped, and Harry noticed that there were tears in his silver-grey eyes. 

Malfoy moved against him, adjusting their positions. He could feel the Slytherin’s drooling tip at his entrance. He rubbed himself against the stiff length. Malfoy groaned. 

Harry widened his legs and wiped Malfoy’s tears with his fingers. The blonde’s face contorted in a sexy, slightly bewildered look, as he lay under him, panting. Malfoy was elated. 

“Potter, please…” Malfoy’s eyes shut. His arms snaked around the Gryffindor’s waist. “Potter…Tell me you want this… Tell me you need this…” 

Harry kissed Malfoy tenderly, and made his way to bite at the Slytherin’s jaw. “I want this, Malfoy… I want this…” 

Malfoy was grasping at his thighs, making wells as he pushed Harry down, while thrusting up to him; entering the Gryffindor in one clean stroke. Harry moaned loudly as he bounced on Malfoy’s lap. His breathing was ragged. 

A loud groan escaped the Slytherin’s lips, and there were more tears streaming down his face. “Oh gods… I can’t last long…” He thrust up again, with Harry meeting him back passionately. Malfoy watched as Harry, red-faced and innocent, began to move, riding him. 

Malfoy held his breath in pleasure, banging up roughly to meet him. The blonde began muttering something, and Harry could only wonder how Malfoy had lost himself so far into the pleasure. The Slytherin became rougher, more frantic, and Harry closed his eyes and echoed his needs. He dropped his head to the crook of Malfoy’s neck, and distinctly heard Malfoy’s whispers near his ears. 

“I… Please, I need you…Potter… I need you…” 

They were banging violently, now; sweat was trailing down Harry’s face. The room was filled with harsh cries and moans. Finally, he felt Malfoy push one last hard stroke, and Malfoy came, spilling himself inside the Gryffindor. Harry came soon after, bursting into the coverlet and on Malfoy’s stomach. There were hard breaths and quiet cries as Harry collapsed next to the Slytherin. Malfoy held on possessively. 

For a moment, Harry was affected by the Slytherin's words. But he knew they meant nothing to Malfoy, and struggled with himself to believe that it meant nothing to himself, as well. 

Malfoy, drunk from half-sleep, muttered more as he clenched Harry tightly. His eyes were closed and sleep had already claimed him once again. Harry sighed into the other boy’s neck, reaching for Malfoy’s wand from the bedside table and cleaning them both up with a spell. 

The truth was, what Malfoy said ignited something painful and searing in Harry's heart. And the sneaking suspicion encrouched upon him, and hesitantly did he ask himself: did he love Draco Malfoy? He wondered darkly on his own feelings, but shook his head. No. He’d have liked what Malfoy said and perhaps it did move him, after all, he was Harry Potter, known to wear his heart on his sleeve aside from utilizing it. But Harry also knew he had to be realistic in these things: Reno’s talk had overpowered the charm of words. 

Slytherins are known to only ally themselves with the more powerful. Many suspect it is you. 

No, Malfoy was a sadistic raping bastard, and that was all he was. Malfoy was only using him. Malfoy only coveted what he could not have. This disappointed Harry, but he stubbornly accepted it. 

All he could do, thought Harry, was pretend that Malfoy really meant them. Pretend that they were spoken from love. A strange part of him wanted to rebel-- he wanted Malfoy to like him. He wanted Malfoy to reform because of him. He wanted Malfoy to prove himself better than what he obviously was. But no, pretending was the best thing Harry could do, and he knew it now. Pretending was all he had left. 

This was love. 

This was love, and not a simple simulation of hormones caused by an aphrodisiac. This was love, not a greedy boy’s lust. This was love. This was what he had always wanted. 

_This is love,_ Harry told himself. It was strangely humorous to think that he knew it false and pretended it true, all the while wishing that it was. He wept bitterly and silently onto the Slytherin’s shoulder. 

_This is love._

\--- 

Okay, just to make things clear: Harry isn't really in love with Draco just yet, he would just like to fool himself into it. O.o got a bit of flames for this. lol. Thank you for everyone who reviewed! Sorry I havent had enough time to reply to all of you! Hope you enjoyed~! 


	7. On The March

  
Author's notes: Where are view expands farther than Harry's troubles, and into the motions of war in which Harry will, sooner or later, confront.   


* * *

**VI – On the March**

**A/N:** Okay, this is the longest chapter yet! I must warn you that it is a _big_ bite to chew. Take it part by part, okay? There are a LOT of revelations here, and a few false assumptions, (winks), and I’ve tightened the plot, but it _can_ get confusing if you don’t pay attention. Lots of Voldemort alert! 

Again, I must add that Harry is not sure whether he has feelings for yes, his rapist. And I believe it is possible to like your rapist, no matter how evil he is. Logics of the head sometimes bow to the whims of the heart, after all. (and its a LITTLE bit like Stockholm syndrome, after all.) And don't worry, as the story progresses, I assure you that Draco will stop being the bad aftertaste of cruelty. Please just hang on and see. :D Thank you for your reviews :D 

And yes, Harry and Draco should be dead from the fall, but at the time I wrote this I failed Physics. :D Haha at least I gave them some injuries, right?? >_< (BTW, I do have non con warnings, don't I? :O ) 

\--- 

Malfoy had been staring at his hand-held mirror, examining the receding bruises on his face, before a quiet voice startled him. 

“I could give you more if you like them _that_ much, Malfoy.” 

Harry Potter was sitting up, blinking at him with his bright green eyes. Malfoy scowled. 

“How long have you been up, Potter?” 

The curtains of the Boys Ward were still snugly shut, but Malfoy had awoken exactly as dawn broke. It was habit. He’d then snatched up his clothes and crept onto Potter’s empty bed, hoping that no one paid a nightly visit and had seen them together, naked and entangled within the sheets. 

Potter was watching him. “I’ve been up long enough to realize you’ve been staring at yourself for _at least_ ten whole minutes. I’m bored stiff.” He looked around lamely for articles of his clothing. Malfoy admired the way Potter’s muscles rippled as he pulled into his shirt. Then he started. 

“Potter. Your wounds are all gone!” 

“Huh?” Potter examined himself with a slightly amused expression. “Oh. Cool.” 

Malfoy stood up, eyeing Harry’s arms as Harry donned his boxers. There was not even a trace of the bigger gashes he’d spied before. And Potter didn’t even seem to be surprised! Malfoy couldn’t believe Harry could sitting right next to him, _amused_ at this shocking miracle. _After all the blood I saw…_

“How come you heal so bloody fast?” Malfoy breathed in wonder. “Even the Medi-witches did all they could.” 

Potter cleared his throat, and stared at Malfoy straight in the eye, a solemn look on his face. “Actually, Draco, I’m immortal.” 

Malfoy stood gaping at him for five seconds before Harry burst out laughing. 

“Oh Gods!” Harry cried with a guffaw, flinging back onto the bed, “You believed me, you thick twat!” 

_Of all the stupid jokes…_ Malfoy angrily threw a pillow at the Gryffindor, cheeks tinged pink. He was on a verge of yelling, but when he saw Harry’s broad grin, a shiver ran up his spine and he felt annoyed at his body’s reaction. Ignoring the flip-flop in his stomach, he concentrated instead on the nastiest thing he could retort. 

“No wonder you felt so smooth when you jumped into bed with me last night, Potter.” 

Harry’s grin faltered. The sneer Malfoy adopted grew wider, but he could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that this was going the wrong direction. For a moment, his father's steel blue eyes came to his thoughts, and he remembered vaguely that Lucius wanted Harry broken. He gathered himself and then said, 

“And I guess I did prove you wrong: I could get you on a bed without getting you drunk. Fancy another tumble?” 

Harry looked furious for a moment, then, to Malfoy’s utter surprise, the Gryffindor laughed. _Laughed._ It was brief, because the raven-head then stood up and smoothened the front of his shirt, yawning as the blonde stared at him. He began walking towards the door. 

“Sorry, Malfoy, I’m not the one who _needs_ this. More importantly, I’m not the one who needs _you._ ” 

A pang of hurt made it’s way to Malfoy’s chest, but he did not let on. His jaw dropped as he suddenly remembered his own words from last night with horrible clarity. _Please. I need you, Potter._ Shame instantly filled him. “About what I said…” 

Harry shrugged. He glanced at Malfoy once more as he opened the infirmary door, a bored expression on his face. “I don’t care about what you said; I told you I don’t need you. At least it was a good shag.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.” 

The door closed behind him, and Malfoy was left stunned at the Gyffindor’s wake. Suddenly the room was so silent he almost couldn’t stand it. A queer icy storm of emotions raged through him. He wondered why it hurt so much. 

\--- 

Harry moved through the infirmary stealthily, even if he was mentally bashing himself over and over again. The look on Malfoy’s face was priceless, but Harry didn’t feel any triumph in his own smiting speech. He was no better than the stupid Slytherin. 

But he prided himself in how he had handled his emotions. When he had heard Malfoy, he was stabbed with a searing spasm of hurt, but he had carefully made sure no sign of that was apparent. His only regret lay in the spiteful retort he drew up. 

Harry hesitated abruptly, looking back, but the door to the Boys Ward remained firmly shut. Malfoy didn’t feel like retaliating. Harry sighed, regretting his own cruel and very untrue words. 

A door on the left opened unexpectedly. Harry turned to it and noticed Madam Pomphrey rushing out of the Girls Ward with blood smeared over her usually immaculate robes. Harry staggered back at the sight, and Madam Pomphrey started, giving a cross between a squeak and a exclamation of fury. 

“Harry! What are you doing?! Stay in bed— you’re barely healed…!” As she said this, her expression of anger changed into wonder. She took in Harry’s flawless skin and unhindered stance. Harry smiled. 

“I’m fine. What’s going on?” 

Immediately, Madam Pomphrey’s attention snapped back to the task at hand. “Mr. Potter, please assist me. I need that bowl over there.” 

She pointed vaguely as she hurried over to one of the cabinets, extracting the white medical clothes she needed. Harry, confused, did as she said and followed her as she charged back into the Ward. 

There was someone on a stained bed in the farthest cot, blood seeping out of her numerous deep wounds. Her face was tilted to the left, away from the door, so Harry couldn’t see her face. Her hair was damp and matted with blood. A million questions ran through Harry’s head. 

“What in Merlin’s name happened?” 

“Some house elves found her in one of the towers this morning,” The infirmary woman huffed as she magicked some potions into the bowl and performed complicated spells, not sparing a glance at the gaping Gryffindor. “Not a moment too late. She’s still conscious. Harry, I need you to clean her face with a towel and comfort her as I go through the spells. She’s in shock.” 

Harry stood for a moment, examining the deep dark cuts along her wrists and arms, and was left speechless. He moved for the towels and approached the bed, his heart thundering as he began to recognize her. The girl’s face was covered in blood, but his really bad feelings worsened as he began to wipe the crimson from her face. 

_No… Please… Don’t tell me its…_

He felt his heart sink. It was Hermione. And the knife was still in her hand. 

\--- 

“Dumbledore!” 

A tall man with thinning chesnut hair stormed into Dumbledore’s open office. Dumbledore whirled around, and smiled warmly. 

“Why good morning! To what do I owe this pleasure, Pollias?” 

Pollias Skritmish apparently didn’t share the Headmaster’s good mood. He was breathing heavily, presenting his hankerchief with a flourish to wipe the sweat off his slightly wrinkled forehead. 

“News from the Order. Emergency. A band of Death Eaters and dementors are attacking King’s Cross Station. The ministry deployed Aurors, but the number of muggle and wizard casualties are already huge!” 

Pollias was shivering from nerves. Dumbledore’s smile quickly faded. He strode closer towards Pollias and directed him to a seat. “How did this happen?” 

“Apparently, the troops had been stationed in a townhome across King’s, but were protected under the Fidelis charm.” A pause, where Pollias caught his breath. “Arthur Weasley’s Order division are heading there as we speak—” 

“Arthur!” Dumbledore interjected, alarmed. “His division is not meant for open warfare—” 

“Can’t be helped, Dumbledore, I had already directed the other Order divisions to quell the amassing army at the Gorgon Pass.” 

There was a quick, shocked silence. Dumbledore receded, then paced about in the office. “An amassing army? The Gorgon mountains are disturbingly close.” He glanced out at the window, which shown a breathtaking landscape of hills, ocean… and mountains. 

“Yes, East from the castle. As you can see, the last chain of the Gorgon mountain range are right over there. A band of trolls, werewolves, a giant and two dragons were seen traveling up through the Mountain Pass _towards_ Hogwarts. That’s why I deployed the other Order Divisions to stop them en route.” 

“Does the Ministry know about this?” 

Pollias nodded faintly, “Yes, but they’re too busy containing the attack at King’s. _One problem at a time_ — they said, can you believe them?!” 

Dumbledore seemed to dwell, absorbing this information. He produced a bottle of water and a glass from a cabinet and poured Pollias a drink. “How fast is the army moving?” 

“The Order will be stationed at the Fort along the pass, Carpisa, and the Dark Army is about a week’s march from them.” He took the cup from Dumbledore with a nod of thanks. “They’re traveling rather slow; trolls don’t enjoy sunlight; so they divide their evenings for moving and sleeping. We can’t find them during the day.” 

“And the dragons?” 

“They are traveling with the non-flyers. We can’t spot them in daytime either, but we’ve seen them at night. I myself was in one reconnaissance flight. Scared me half to death— Charlie told me both dragons are Hungarian Horntails, both alpha males, in their prime—” 

“Can you estimate their arrival time here?” 

Pollias paused, considering. “Two months and they’d be at the Hogwarts Gates. If the resistance at Carpisa proves to be challenging, maybe we can stretch it to three. We’re not even sure if Hogwarts is their real destination. Dumbledore, we’ll need you at the Fort.” “We cannot expect to win if you believe I will be able to topple dragons, trolls, werewolves and giants single-handedly.” Dumbledore said kindly, but it was a depressing thought. Pollias looked rattled. 

“I-I was also hoping you could alert others, too. I’m calling in French ministry. Minister Parté has always been good to the Order—” 

Dumbledore held up a hand when the man showed signs of prattling on. “Alright. Do all you can, and don’t forget to contact Fleur and Viktor’s divisions. They may make it in time.” 

Pollias stood up, looking, if possible, even paler then when he had first barged in. He fixed his cloak and looked Dumbledore in the eye. “Then we will expect you at the Carpisa Fort?” 

“Yes, my friend,” Dumbledore nodded, “but I must complete some other tasks before I go.” 

“Are you heading for King’s Cross?” 

“No, Pollias. I will not travel too far away from Hogwarts. My students are already in grave danger with a strong army nearby. With dragons nearby. I am putting faith in the Ministry, though I may send Mcgonagall, Sinistra and whoever else I can. I hope you understand.” 

Pollias nodded, and headed towards the door. “Of course, Dumbledore. I must run.” 

Dumbledore nodded. “Merlin guard you.” 

“Merlin guard us,” replied Pollias, closing the door behind him. 

Dumbledore wasted no time in sending Fawkes to signal numerous colleagues for the King’s Cross dillema. And then it took him only a moment to send various portrait men racing through Hogwarts corridors, hunting down McGonagall and the other capable teachers, bursting with the grave news. 

He sat himself on his desk table for a few moments, pondering gravely about what the developments would mean. Two to three months, and Voldemort’s army would be crushing Hogwarts. But why had Voldemort chosen such a slow and obvious pace? 

He turned to a corner of the room, which was hidden beneath a layer of shadow. He spoke quietly. “It was good that you chose to hide from Pollias. He doesn’t trust you.” 

Severus Snape emerged from the corner, holding his wand. He pointed it lazily at the door, and Dumbledore heard it click. The headmaster gazed out of the window for a moment, then addressed the other man again. 

“We shall discuss your House concerns at another time,” Said Dumbledore curtly, “More pressing is the matter at hand. What does this mean, Severus? Had Tom told you of these plans?” 

“Headmaster, as I told you before, the Dark Lord’s army has grown so large that he’s appointed numerous generals. He suspects that there is a spy, so we’ve been given vague instructions, but never specific plans. The generals’ arrangements were according to their taste.” 

Severus sat down on the chair Pollias had used. “I told you weeks ago that three of his generals: Lucius Malfoy, Aris Abram and Fenris Greyback were ordered to cause an “uproar” soon. You said not to act on this information.” 

Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “My mistake, and I hope I shall not pay dearly for it. I suspect that it was Greyback’s werewolf troop that killed Madame Maxime, and are the ones coming up from the mountains over here?” 

“Probably.” Admitted Snape. “And Abram’s troop would be the ones at King’s Cross, seeing as he’s handling the Dementors.” 

Dumbledore paced around the room with a troubled frown. “But that leaves one more general. What is Lucius Malfoy up to?” 

This was left unanswered. Snape started rubbing the Dark Mark from under his sleeve. He was perplexed. “Why target King’s Cross?” He asked suddenly. “What could it possibly accomplish?” 

“The Hogwarts Express is the only wizard train there.” Replied Dumbledore immediately, as if he had pondered over this before. “If they obliterate it, we lose the safest mode of transportation for our students.” 

“They are trying to trap us?” 

At this, Dumbledore walked towards the window, his eyes staring off at the valley of the two last Gorgon mountains. “I have a feeling they are aiming for the Boy-Who-Lived.” 

A short silence fell. Dumbledore turned around. “Yet I am perplexed: open attack is not Tom’s style. And…” he trailed off. 

“And what?” 

Dumbledore shook his head. “And two months is not enough for Harry to be ready.” 

His last sentence seemed to linger in the room, causing a thickness of dread to weigh the air. Snape’s eyes flickered. Dumbledore looked at him curiously as the Potions Master stood up. “Headmaster… I’ve been thinking…” 

“Yes?” 

Snape paused, breathing hard. The truth was, this was a question that had been haunting him since yesterday. He tried to shelved down a flurry of jealousy as he thought of it once again. Blankly, he asked, “Did you give the potion to Mr. Potter?” 

At this, Dumbledore sighed. “I did, Severus. I asked him if he was up for it.” At Snape’s stony stance, Dumbledore continued, “Honestly, I was worried about how his gashes seemed so irrevocably open. I did not tell him this, but Poppy was having problems. She was only able to mend him to an extent.” 

An angry sneer broke out from the Potions Master’s façade. “So you gave the potion? What if it doesn’t work? What if it just aggravates his condition?” 

“Trust me, my lad, I have thought of this far deeply as you. My intuition overruled me, I’m afraid.” 

Snape looked like a thundercloud. Dumbledore sighed, hoping that the man would not take this too much to heart. He fancied he knew why Snape was so angry. “Harry needs to be ready for his battle, Severus. We need him healed and fully capable because goodness knows _Tom will not wait for him._ He hasn’t even started training, and now we have an army we might have to face. He must defend himself when we cannot anymore.” 

Snape looked like he was fighting furiously for control. He had stuck two and two together for some time now, and it had been torturing him. 

“He… He took it in the infirmary.” It was not a question. Snape’s nostrils flared. Dumbledore nodded calmly. 

“Yes, Severus. He did indeed.” 

Snape’s reply came out more like a growl. The image of Draco running his hands down Potter’s soft skin was enough to make him bristle. 

“He took it when he was alone with Draco _Malfoy_.” 

“You do not trust them.” Dumbledore responded, watching him, even taunting him a little with his bright blue eyes. Yes, Dumbledore knew what this was about. Would Snape admit it? 

“They are bloody _teenagers_!” Snape suddenly burst out, fuming. He was stalking angrily towards Dumbledore, “They heed in to every desire! Why, Dumbledore, why couldn’t Harry have been removed from school?!” 

“Because, my dear Severus,” Replied Dumbledore placidly, not even flinching at the prospect of the angry wizard gnashing his teeth before him, “I did not wish people to know much about Harry’s new advantages. They will, of course, realize that Harry healed quickly, but not _how_ , or _why_. Let us surprise Tom with Harry’s growth when the time comes.” 

Snape obviously could not argue with that logic. The Dark Lord’s spies were all over Hogwarts, seeing as the-Boy-Who-Lived walked and lived and breathed among them. If they knew all of Harry’s potentials, Voldemort would be well prepared. If they knew that Harry was not in the school, they would find him, and attempt an attack. If everything went as normal as it could, they could remain safe and unbothered, yet Snape could not contain the fury at the thought of the two boys together. 

_Harry would be willing to… and Malfoy…_ Malfoy’s greedy sneer made his way to Snape’s conscious mind. He railed up for another argument. “I can’t believe you would trust them so blindly! What if— what if they—” 

“Severus, you of all people know that the effect of that specific aphrodisiac only _increases_ desire, not create it.” 

Dumbledore stared at him. Would the Potions Master admit he had feelings for the boy? Suddenly, he realized that Severus Snape, the usually impassive Death Eater, was so obviously racked with hurt. He frowned. “I am sorry if it caused you pain.” 

“…And if they… had desire?” Snape whispered, looking up at him yet trying very hard to clutch tightly onto his dignity. 

“Severus, I may sound awful, even perverted if I say this, but I believe I chose the lesser evil. We need Harry healed, and I kept Draco Malfoy there because it would arouse suspicion otherwise.” 

Snape turned away, muttering almost accusingly, “You don’t even know if the theory works.” 

Their discussion was interrupted when a disturbingly close pop sounded in the middle of the room. Dumbledore instinctively drew his wand, and Snape did the same, turning to the source. A small house elf bowed before them, looking a little nervous at their offensive stances. 

“Master Dumbledore, sir, there is some parents wanting of a visit. They is waiting at the gates.” 

Dumbledore kept his wand back and smiled kindly. “Parents of who, Winky?” 

The house elf bowed again. “Parents of the other boy who is getting hurt in the Quidditch game. The Malfoy boy.” 

So Lucius has come. 

\--- 

Hermione’s face was laden with cuts. Her hands and neck were barely recognizable. Harry frowned down upon her as she stared passively back at him. “Hermione…” 

They were alone now. Madam Pomphrey had declared her out of immediate danger, and had confiscated the stained knife in her hand. The nurse then packed up all the medical gadgets and left them alone, saying breakfast was in an hour, and that Harry was to stay put. 

Harry couldn’t think of going anywhere else right at this moment. The scars on his friend’s body were almost too repulsive; they had quite disfigured her. The infirmary nurse said that there would be no permanent damage to her _physical_ body, which only implicated that there was something wrong with Hermione’s brain. Harry bristled in his friend’s defence. 

“I didn’t do this to myself… I didn't mean to...” Hermione whispered, tears travelling down the gruesome wounds on her cheeks. If it stung her, she did not let on. “Madam Pomphrey won’t believe me. But you believe me, right, Harry?” 

Harry stared at her. He didn’t know what to believe. Madam Pomphrey had discreetly told him that all Hermione’s wounds were made by a left-handed attacker. She asked quite pointedly, and Harry had no choice but to answer that yes, Hermione was indeed left-handed. 

The other Medi-witches from St. Mungos’, who were supposed to treat Harry, were now assisting Madam Pomphrey on this strange case. The Gryffindor girl kept insisting that she hadn’t hurt herself, yet all evidence pointed otherwise. 

Harry seethed when they contemplated on bringing her to St. Mungo’s Insane Confinement. Although, Harry thought they seemed anxious to bring him along as an experimental lab rat, since they were so astounded with his recovery. 

Harry sat on Hermione’s bed and brushed a stringy strand of hair off her face. He couldn’t help feel guilty that he had not taken better care of her. 

“… Do you remember who did this to you?” He asked quietly. If Hermione believed in her innocence, why shouldn’t he? After all the times she stuck through with him, he would not let her down. Harry grew worried when he noticed she had gone rigid, her expression changed into one of fear and pain. Her eyes glazed over. 

“Hermione?” 

“He’s been following me...” She stuttered, whispering, as if someone was in the room. Indeed, Harry suddenly felt like another presence stirred, and thought a shadow flitted across the window. But he shelved it aside as his imagination and watched as his friend continued, “He’s been in my dreams… lurking around. I…” 

Harry distinguished his his heart pounding now, danger radars were escalating. He kept quiet as Hermione lowered her voice into a harsh rasp. 

“I think he drains me when I sleep. I wake up more tired than before.” 

Harry blinked in surprise. He’d gotten the same feelings some nights. Strange. 

“Thought it was stress…” whispered Hermione, not noticing the discomfited look on Hary’s face. Her voice was getting softer, “or my feelings with Ron… then…” 

Hermione twisted her face. Harry could see the wounds glinting, but didn’t interrupt. “I saw him in the tower, smiling at me… Told me I was too… intelligent for his taste…” 

Harry could imagine the scene, and it quite frightened him. 

“I was scared, Harry. I thought it was Lord Voldemort, but he felt like… like a dementor. I was getting weaker as he drew closer… then…” 

Hermione left it there. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily, as if trying to sigh it all away. Harry reached out to soother her, but once his fingertips touched her icy hand, a bright flash came upon his eyes and he recoiled. Hermione’s memory had leaped on him, and he saw, quite distinctly, the towering, hulking figure. 

This was the haunter. This was Hermione’s attacker. And what Harry noticed most about this ethereal man was the familiar glowing, golden eyes. 

\--- 

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy had escaped the infirmary, walking with a limp. He’d crashed down on the lake hard, but most of his injuries were mere bruises from the volume of the water. His temporary limp was caused from a wrong angle in the fall, but he had certainly been much better off than Harry. 

_Stop thinking about that prat,_ he chided himself, as he turned towards the corner. He was heading to the Great Hall, readying himself for his heroic appearance at the Slytherin table. But when he turned, lo and behold; there stood Albus Dumbledore with his mother and father. The sunlit corridors proved magnificent, the morning rays’ reflection on their golden hair made his parents look like gods, while beside them, Dumbledore stood like a mad old fool. 

“Draco!” His mother breathed, brushing past Dumbledore a little rudely to bring Draco to her arms. Draco pushed her away. 

“Mother, I have these stupid bruises and I would appreciate it if you don’t make them worse.” It wasn’t true; last night he hadn’t complained about Potter on top of him at all, but his mother’s concern annoyed him. 

Lucius started for him as if he had read Draco’s thoughts. “That is no way to talk to your mother, Draco!” 

“Oh come now, Lucius,” Said Dumbledore pleasantly, and Lucius paused to turn to the headmaster. Dumbledore ignored the other man’s scowl as he continued, “After his little fall I’m sure Draco’s just a little tetchy. I apologize again for the incident—” 

“You do well to apologize again, Albus.” Sneered Lucius. “This was not an easy matter; I couldn’t believe you had not been able to prevent the injuries over my son.” 

“I know Lucius, but you must understand a Quidditch game, and you had… ahem, _approved_ of it in the first place.” He stared meaningfully at the tall blonde. 

Draco couldn’t help thinking Dumbledore knew about his father buying off his Seeker position, back in second year. If Lucius thought this too, it was ignored, for he simply held the headmaster’s gaze. Dumbledore beckoned with his hand. “Come now, I shall show you to the conference room and leave you three some time alone.” 

True to his word, Dumbledore left immediately after he had shut the door to a well-furnished room. Draco looked around: the area was filled with many comfortable couches, a coffee table and a merry fire. Draco also noticed that there were no portraits peering down at them, replaced instead with shelves of countless books and a drinking bar to the side, complete with crystal goblets. He and his mother took a couch, but his father made no move to sit. 

After a moment of simply scrutinizing his son, Lucius Malfoy brought out his wand and waved it once; Draco felt a powerful silencing charm erect around them. Draco gave his mother a fleeting look, and she smiled at him a little coldly. 

Draco immediately felt a small prodding in his head, so strengthened his Occlumency shields to repel it. “Father…” 

“Has the boy gotten under your skin?” His father suddenly sneered. Draco almost jumped back in surprise, for his father was leaning above him now. 

“W-what are you talking about?” 

Narcissa sounded a little nervous, “Lucius, I don’t think this is the time—” 

“I want an answer now, Draco.” Said Lucius sternly, ignoring his wife. “I feel a sense of contentment in your form, and I could feel Potter’s magic all over you like a blanket.” 

Draco shrugged, the beading sweat on his forehead was ice on his skin. His nonchalance tasted so foreign while his heart was jumping at his throat. “I got bored in the infirmary.” 

“And this Gryffindor has been leaping in your arms without thought about who you _are_?” His father spat, menace lacing each syllable. 

Draco felt his father prodding at his Occlumency shields again. He felt resentment on hearing those words, so pulled his face to a childish sneer. “…As a matter of fact, yes, he _has_ been leaping right into my arms.” 

Lucius probably felt some truth in that revelation, for there was a long silence as he withdrew. He paced a little, eyeing the fireplace disinterestedly and feeling its marble frame with a gloved hand. 

“Well, this arrangement can be made.” Lucius muttered to himself. 

Draco made a face. “What?” 

“You see, Draco,” His mother jumped in, smiling softly, “Lucius has been greatly honored by the Dark Lord. He’s been asked to do the most important Task.” Her eyes filled with pride as she gazed at the older man. Draco thought his mother was quite unsettling when she talked about the Dark Lord. It was as if she had a second personality, one that was dangerously sweet and gentle… and cruel. 

Draco’s adrenaline was pumping. Open talk about the Dark Lord was a rarity, for his parents often treated him like a child who would not understand the intricacies, or compromise their secrets. 

But now… Open talk meant that they were regarding him as an equal. Could it be that they were about to initiate him into the Dark Lord’s circle? All his life he’d been waiting to be a Death Eater, for it had always been greatly honored in his family. A rush of pride ran through him. 

Draco sat up straighter, glee pouring off his eager face. “A Task…?” 

“To deliver Harry Potter.” Narcissa was positively beaming as Lucius smirked, feeling the genuine exhilaration course through his son. “You would make me proud, son, if you can get Harry Potter to come, almost… willingly.” 

Draco felt only a moment’s hesitation. Potter had been an especially a good lay, and a strange feeling blossomed as he thought more and more about the Gryffindor. But… 

_I'm not the one who needs you._

Remembering Potter’s words was like a stab in the gut. Visions of the night he'd raped him flashed into his consciousness, and there was a mix of disgust and guilt adding to the anger in him. Detesting his sudden emotional situation, Draco repressed them and tasted instead the feeling of importance at his father’s request. If Potter didn’t care about him, why the hell should _he_ care about the prat, right? 

“You will be rewarded of course,” Lucius noted, eyeing Draco’s resolve with a keen eye, “…rewarded beyond your dreams. And you will finally receive the Mark.” 

Draco’s eyes raised up to meet Lucius’, brimming with newfound zeal. The temptation was driving him crazy. The Mark! The highest icon of power! This is what he’d always wanted, yet at the back of his head, he felt there was something terribly wrong. 

His mother leaned closer and took Draco’s hand. “You will deliver him to us, won’t you?” 

“Of course!” Draco replied immediately, glancing at her with shock and offense, “Who ever said I wouldn’t?” 

He was surprised to feel his heart aching, like it was squeezing shut. No, Draco thought, _No, I’ve been waiting for this all my life. I won’t let Potter ruin this for me. He doesn’t stand a chance. I’ve been wanting to be like father for far too long._

“Good. I was worried, for a moment.” Said Lucius, triumphant. “But it seems that we have raised you well. Shall we discuss the plan?” 

In the darkest part of Draco’s brain, one unreachable to his father’s Legilimency skills and even far repressed that Draco himself couldn’t realize, he was glad that Lucius could only go so far with his Legilimency. He was glad that his father could not read his heart. 

\--- 

“Harry! Hermione!” 

Harry had been feeding Hermione porridge as she was propped up stiffly on her bed. The pain numbing potions she took not only eased her pain, but also her movement, so Harry felt obliged to help. 

At the voice, The Boy-Who-Lived turned to the door, finding a certain red-headed girl standing with her hands folded in front of her. “I didn’t believe it when Madam Pomphrey first told me…” Ginny muttered, her eyes taking both Hermione and Harry. Harry couldn’t tell whether she was talking about Harry’s healing prowress or Hermione’s current state. Unfazed at both their appearances, she snatched the empty spoon from Harry’s hand. 

“Give me that, you’re dribbling it down her chin. And go eat yourself.” She gestured to the tray on the table, and Harry glanced at his own untouched platter. 

“Why are you here?” 

“To visit of course. It’s Sunday. Everyone wanted to visit you, Harry, but Madam Pomphrey harangued us until I was the only one brave enough to enter. To our panic, she told us you were here too, Hermy, but at least you look better than what Madam Pomphrey described.” She gave a shudder. “Oh, and on the way here, you wouldn’t believe who I saw! Malfoy’s Death Eater parents came to talk to Dumbledore.” 

Ginny was scowling; she had never forgiven Lucius for that incident in Harry’s second year. Harry, of course, understood perfectly. He scrunched his nose, “They’re probably here for their precious ferret. You know how he is, moaning and groaning all about his bruises. I had to watch him stare at himself at the mirror for ten whole minutes, thinking he could glare the scrapes away.” 

They laughed. 

“So, where’s Ron?” asked Hermione quite suddenly, looking expectantly up at Ginny. Ginny’s face darkened. 

“Ron? He won’t talk to me. Saw him on my way here too and I asked whether he’d want to visit both of you, but he just walked away.” 

Hermione seemed a little put out, and Ginny held her hand gingerly. Harry sympathized with her; Ron was acting like a cold-hearted bastard, and he couldn’t understand why. This brought to mind Malfoy and Snape, so he tried to shelve the thought aside. 

Suddenly, Ginny stiffened. 

“What’s wrong, Gin?” Hermione asked right away, pressing her hand tighter. 

“Nothing…” replied Ginny, seeming troubled, “I… was going to tell you… But it’s not really the time.” 

“Go on,” Urged Hermione, “Please. I need something else to think about…” 

Harry looked up at Ginny curiously. Was this about Luna? 

Ginny shook her flaming head. “Trust me, this you also don’t want to talk about.” 

“Gin…” warned Harry. He and Hermione glared at her expectantly. Ginny shifted; Harry knew she felt uncomfortable whenever anyone stared for too long, and it took only a few minutes to break her. 

“Oh…!” She exclaimed, waving the spoon in her hand. She would have smiled, Harry knew, but this was obviously eating her up, that her face remained serious. 

“When you saw me yesterday going to Charms, Harry, I forgot to tell you what I read from the Daily Prophet. Hermione’s copy had to be received, but she didn’t show up, and neither did you nor Ron… So I took it… And…” She had a mournful expression. 

“—Oh Gin, don’t worry. The paper’s wrong.” Harry said, suddenly understanding the grief that was pouring off the redheaded girl. “It’s about Hagrid, isn’t it? Hagrid isn’t dead. He’s at St. Mungo’s.” 

“What?” Asked Hermione. “What about Hagrid?” 

“I’ll explain.” 

Harry began recounting his conversation with Dumbledore last night, evasively avoiding the topic of the aphrodisiac. He felt they wouldn’t be able to cope with more complications, especially Harry’s love life. _Or quite lack of, actually…_

“Oh dear… If she’s dead…” Hermione whispered a moment after his narration, which had lingered briefly over Madam Maxime’s death. “If she’d dead then Hagrid needs us to be there.” 

Ginny blinked, and Harry was startled. “Hermione, you can barely move—“ 

“I know, but Harry, you two can.” She looked at them pleadingly. “Please, can’t you go in my place, Gin? Hagrid needs us… He saw her die. It’s…” 

She hesitated a moment, with Harry and Ginny looking anxiously at her. Her voice grew fragile. 

“It’s not really easy losing someone you love.” 

At her remark, they all fell silent. 

\--- 

Severus Snape escorted Draco Malfoy’s parents with the usual passive conversations, while secretly trying to pry into their private discussion. It proved to be unsuccessful, for both Lucius and Narcissa seemed only to worry about their son. Snape quietly stressed his anxiety over Lucius’s Task, but Lucius merely brushed him off, saying it was taken care of. Snape could not seem too suspicious, so let the matter drop. Draco Malfoy was silent the entire time. 

Once the guests were gone from the castle, he followed Draco quietly, preparing himself to ask about the nature of their visit. Draco proved to be stubborn and elusive, however, as he weaved through the corridors with a single-minded pace. Snape followed and clamped a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“Draco, where are you off to?” 

Draco shrugged the hand off his shoulders with obvious disgust. “None of your bloody business.” 

“Mind your manners, boy.” Snape snarled quietly. Draco looked at him in the eye, and sneered back. 

“Apologies. None of your bloody business, sir.” 

Snape’s blood level began to rise. “I’ll have none of your cheek!” 

His voice echoed throughout the corridor; he was glad no one was afoot. Truly, this altercation would be dangerous for him-- Voldemort's spies were in Hogwarts, and one false move could lead to his end. Yet Dumbledore trusted his slyness, asking him urgently to find out what Lucius was leashing at this crucial time. 

Draco paused for a moment, seeming to think of another sarcastic remark, but instead he smirked and walked closer to his Head of House. A sly grin ripened on his thin lips as he opened his mind to a single thought, while saying, “I don’t care, really. I had a good night.” 

Snape stiffened as Malfoy suddenly dropped his Occlumency shields. It was the perfect chance to ransack the boy's mind, but anger and curiosity made him pick up the offered thought, and his hands clenched as the scene unwinded. Draco was recalling Harry Potter on top of him, moaning wildly as the blonde thrust up with obvious urgency. Despite his rage, Snape hated himself for his traitorous body, as his manhood began to stiffen. The image of Potter, sweaty and red-faced, his beautiful face contorted into a look of passion… Snape could barely restrain from lashing at the smirking blonde boy before him. 

“I can report you to the Headmaster about that, Draco Malfoy.” Snape ground out, almost shivering in jealousy. 

Malfoy suddenly looked angry as well. “Yeah, well, I can report you too, sir. I know what you did to him in the empty classroom.” The revelation came out with a bite in the student’s voice. Snape hesitated from replying, wondering how Malfoy could have known such an intimate detail. At this moment his dangerous situation shifted into one of desperation: if Malfoy knew of Snape's exploits, had he discussed them with Lucius? If this boy knew, who of Voldemort's spies would soon find out? 

He couldn't blame Potter here, much as he would like to. He knew that though the brat was clumsy, he would never tell Malfoy something like that. 

At Snape’s obvious discomfort, Malfoy took a step forward, and whispered in completion. 

“His mind opens as wide as his legs at the point of ecstasy. It’s… wonderful.” Malfoy smirked, eyes glazing a little as if he was lost in the memory, resavoring his conquest. 

Snape fought to keep himself in control. Why had it been so easy to keep all emotions in check if it dealt nothing about Harry Potter? Despising Malfoy’s triumphant smirk, he growled, “It just may be that he was thinking of me.” 

Malfoy flushed in rage. Obviously it was a possibility, and Snape felt a moment’s triumph. He couldn’t believe he was provoking his own godson, but the smug satisfaction after bedding Harry boiled his blood. He knew Harry had only been pushed into sex because of the aphrodisiac he had brewed. But he could not voice out such a sensitive topic. Especially not after Lucius Malfoy had visited. Who knew what they had been discussing? 

“Why are you still hoping, professor?” Draco growled out, jealousy gnawing at every word. “You won’t get him, he’s mine. _Mine!_ ” The silver eyes flashed dangerously. Snape forcefully pulled back his emotions, and sneered in his most infamous manner. 

“I know his feelings towards you, Draco, and let me tell you that they are not very pleasant. He told me his fury and disdain after you had… _raped_ him.” At Draco’s sudden silence, and the shocked expression on his face, Snape knew he had breached a new offense. But he could not stop, “Yes, Draco Malfoy, he _told_ me.” 

Snape thought he felt something crack in Malfoy’s resolve. His last Occlumency shields wavered further, but Snape no longer wished to peer into his head. He took a step towards Draco, leaning down to whisper to his godson’s ear. 

“Tell me, Draco, has he ever told you anything worth keeping? He doesn’t trust you at all, now, does he?” 

Malfoy backed away, a stony expression set on his features. Snape could feel the lad trying desperately to piece himself back, trying to dissuade the flurry of guilt he was tormented with. Snape caught the feelings, and Malfoy knew it, but he sneered anyway. The older man could not mistake how glassy the teen’s eyes had become. In a fit of rage, the boy snarled, “It doesn’t matter. I fucked him senseless twice.” 

Snape knew Draco was only trying to convince himself, but the words affected him so badly that he no choice but to turn and walk away. Dumbledore had instructed him to try and find out what the Malfoys’ meeting was about, but for now Snape accomplished nothing but a burning jealousy in his gut. 

_It doesn’t matter._ Draco thought to himself as he slumped onto the wall, watching the professor go. He couldn’t understand why tears were threatening to fall down his cheeks, he couldn’t understand why these emotions were arresting him. He didn’t want to understand; it was too complicated to grasp. 

_It doesn’t matter._

But Draco could feel a tiny twinge in his heart, a twinge that kept telling that, it did, in fact, matter very much. 

\--- 

Harry Potter strode out of the infirmary, glad that Madam Pomphrey hadn’t yet returned from reporting to Dumbledore. He was out to find the headmaster too, so that he could have permission to visit Hagrid with Ginny. Ginny decided to remain in the infirmary for the time being so Hermione wouldn’t be alone. Harry couldn’t argue with that. 

He was worried about Hermione. He believed her story wholeheartedly now, and he was anxious. She was speaking of things that were also happening to him. _The fatigue after sleeping…_ Just this morning he had to wait for his weakness to subside before provoking Malfoy. In fact, the weariness in his bones prompted him to drink last night’s aphrodisiac in the first place. These things, small and inconsequential as he had thought, were now full of mystery. 

But Hermione’s most definitive proof was the memory that had struck at him. Those golden eyes… There were only three people in the school who had such a color: Madam Hooch, Blaise Zabini and Reno Morris. But Reno’s eyes were different; the others’ were considered honey compared to his molten gold. 

Could it be Reno that was tormenting Hermione? Harry recalled all his first misgivings and the conversations they had shared. Dragonblood. Honor. Gryffindor ideals. It was all so confusing. 

“Harry…?” 

Harry jumped, shooting from his reverie as he turned towards the voice. His eyes widened. “Ron?” 

Ron looked awful. His clothes were rumpled, and he had dark circles under his eyes, a stark contrast to the sallowness of his face. His hair was wiry and unkempt. “Mate, how are you? I heard about you and Herm, and I…” 

Harry shot him an unimpressed glance. “I see you’ve finally started talking again.” 

“Well, I…” Ron looked uncomfortable, but Harry could not feel it in his heart to forgive him. He had been so strange and cold, not the Ron he knew nor cared about. Harry felt that he was an unpredictable stranger, and Ron seemed to understand. “Harry, I… I’m sorry. I came to the infirmary to apologize to you.” 

“To me?” Breathed Harry, more than a little angry. “To me but not Hermione? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know how much pain you’ve caused her?” 

“Would you want me to explain?” 

Harry squared his stance and gave Ron a cold look. “Start at the very beginning.” 

It took a moment for Ron to collect his thoughts. Harry could tell the redhead resisted to slump over the stone wall, and Harry could also feel the torment raging in the redhead’s being. A long time ago, Harry had promised to teach Ron Occlumency for his protection. They’d never gotten around to do it, though, because Ron and Hermione began spending time together. 

Harry was mildly startled when Ron finally spoke. “Herm and I have been on… rocky ground, you know that.” He gave an agonized expression as he continued, “Most were my fault, but she doesn’t know _why exactly_ it’s my fault… but…” He gestured something Harry couldn’t grasp. 

“Breathe, Ron.” 

Ron started staring at his feet. “Harry, you changed, somehow. I… I suddenly couldn’t stop looking at you… Thinking about you… I… I was afraid that I was… you know… Going _queer_.” 

Harry was completely shocked. Of all the things he expected to hear, this was definitely not in the list. He blushed, but did not look away. He could also sense Ron’s feelings, the mortification, the guilt. Ron was exuding all these, and they were so strong that Harry was afraid Ron would pass out. Ron glanced back up to stare at Harry’s red face, and Harry vaguely realized Ron too was blushing. 

“And then… To have seen you that time… shoved up against Seamus… I lost my cool. I felt so jealous I nearly…” He shook his head in disgust, “I was so confused, and at the same time, I also didn’t want to hurt Hermione.” 

Harry was about to voice out that he had hurt Hermione anyway. It did not excuse the fact that he had been very nasty about the whole affair, although in his heart, he had already begun to understand. How many great men have been slain by what they felt, even if they knew it was their undoing? 

_So this is why he had been so strange._ Harry thought. He didn’t even feel the urge to be offended at Ron’s tone for ‘queer.’ 

Ron had held up a hand, clearly not yet finished. 

“Harry, picture this: you’ve been telling your girlfriend you loved her with all your heart, and you did, but now… you think you’re different. And sick… and she’s you’re best mate; you don’t want to hurt her! … But if you face your… feelings… that’s what you’ll end up doing… Then to have feelings for _you_ of all people… What would happen to our trio? Trapped, mate. Checkmate.” 

Harry stared at him, and now understood that the wall between them was breached and battered down by truth. Here was Ronald Weasley, coping with his feelings, wretched and shame-ridden from the hurt he had caused others. Harry couldn’t blame him, no matter how much easier it would be, he knew Ron was tormenting himself far worse than anything that could be done. And with mild surprise, Harry also discovered that he didn’t want Ron to torture himself. Ron had his reasons; he couldn’t change his feelings no matter how hard he tried. Harry wanted no more pain for both his best friends. There had been too much bloodshed already. 

Without thinking at all, he came up and hugged Ron, no longer stunned at the prospect of Ron’s crush. They were friends, that was that, and there was no uncomfortable silence between them. They understood each other, as they had for six years. 

He vaguely felt Ron’s tears dampening the cloth on his shoulder. He could hear Ron muttering. 

“I lost Hermione, and I miss her… I know I hurt her very badly, and she doesn’t know half of it. Madam Pomphrey said she tried to kill herself…” 

He sighed. Harry let him cry; he would explain later. He knew Ron needed to let this out. 

“—But I’m queer… and I hate the fact that I’m hurting her, but I can’t help feeling an attraction for you, and I hate that too— no offense, mate, but I don’t want to mess things up like I’m doing to… to… Oh Merlin I’m horrible…” 

“—Ron,” Harry said gently, “Ron you aren’t horrible. A horrible person wouldn’t have these regrets.” A memory of Malfoy flitted through his mind, and his heart tightened. “Ron, look, it’s not awful being queer… I _am_ gay too, I suppose… People in this world aren’t complete arses as some of the hypocritical muggle biggots who judge before they understand… right?” 

Ron snorted a little, and held Harry a little tighter. 

“But, Hermione, Harry. How will I explain? What am I going to do?” 

Harry shrugged. “Hey, you stood by with me last year, in the Ministry. I’ve never heard of such loyalty. I’m willing to help you out till the end too. We’ll think of something together.” 

Something moved from Harry’s peripheral. He turned to it and almost gasped out loud. 

“Weasel. Pothead. What a… _pleasant_ surprise.” 

Draco Malfoy appeared from a corner, looking dangerously livid, his pale face painting a sneer while his silver eyes glinted. He glared at Harry possessively. 

Ron quickly drew away from Harry and dried his tears however he could, but did not face Malfoy. Harry, too, was affronted: how much did Malfoy hear? He stepped in between them, glaring hard at the blonde. “Leave us alone, Malfoy.” 

“What, is he fucking you too?” Malfoy sneered, his hands clenched into fists; fists so tight the knuckles were white as snow. Ron stiffened, but did not move. 

“Yes,” Harry replied defiantly, sticking up his chin and watched as Malfoy’s expression changed to one of sheer contempt. There was a moment when all Harry felt for the blonde was pure, blind, boiling rage. It seemed the other boy felt the same thing, for in a clear tantrum, Malfoy lunged towards them. But Harry had his wand out already. 

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” 

Malfoy went rigid for a moment, then fell haphazardly to the floor. The heavy breathing was the only sign of the blonde’s rage. Harry walked over to him, watching Malfoy’s silver eyes, which were narrowed to slits. 

Harry’s memories came back with a flash: the rape, the ridicule, the trickery. How much evil can this blonde boy cause in his life? Anger surged into his very veins. And here he was, on the floor, at Harry’s mercy. The Gryffindor smirked a smirk that would have made a Slytherin proud. “This, Malfoy, is called _revenge._ ” 

He pointed his wand at the Slytherin, drew in a breath, and hesitated. He stared deeper in those cold silver eyes. 

_Honor._

“Harry?” Asked Ron, coming to stand at his side. Harry placed his wand back in his robe and shook his head. “On second thought, he’s not even worth it.” 

Malfoy was left seething silently, staring at the two pairs of feet that were quietly walking away. 

\--- 

It was a long while before Ron finally spoke. They had spent a companionable silence making their way to Dumbledore’s office, only to find that he was not in. Disappointed, they decided to make their way to the Great Hall, where many students usually enjoyed Sundays, chatting. 

“Are you… are you having an affair with Malfoy?” 

Harry looked over at Ron’s uncharacteristically impassive face, and shrugged. “I don’t know really.” 

_But I’m attracted to him, and it’s really stupid, considering how he'd treated me and the many times he’d made my life hell._

“So you’ve… You know… Done those… ” Ron’s face greened as he gestured, and this time Harry got the drift. 

“Really Ron, If you’re queer, you’re going to have to face that weak stomach of yours.” 

Ron glared at him. “It’s not easy if you thought you were straight all along.” 

Harry shrugged. Perhaps it was just harder for some people than for others. Harry wasn’t one to judge. 

They made their way to the Study Hall, where Harry drew a commotion. A flurry of school essays brightened the hall as students crowded around Harry, demanding the juicy “facts” of the Quidditch match and the fall, but Harry just promised to tell them all later, and that he really needed to see Dumbledore. He was quite dissatisfied when not one had even seen him that day. 

“Must be rather busy,” Harry grumbled as they left the raucous room, “Maybe I’ll just go to the library or something. Do you want to come?” 

Ron was blankly staring straight ahead. 

“Ron?” 

As if snapped back to reality, Ron jumped, “—Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever.” 

They were walking towards the library now, but Harry couldn’t help keeping a suspicious glance towards his friend. Ron’s emotions were still jumbled up, and most of them were trying to burst out of Ron’s self control. 

“Ron, I think you should visit her.” Said Harry, suddenly, halting in his tracks. Ron turned to face him, a look of both dread and resignment on his tired face. 

“I know.” 

It was startling how for once, Ron didn’t need prodding to face a confrontation. It was completely obvious that he was very rattled by it. He knew Hermione needed him, even if he had been a complete jackass. 

Harry tapped Ron’s jaw. “Chin up and march, Ron. And tell Ginny I couldn’t find Dumbledore. I need to be alone, but if you guys need me, I’m at the library.” 

Ron nodded gravely and left. 

\--- 

After hours of pouring over books, Harry felt afraid. There was a prickling feeling at the back of his neck, and though he was alone, he couldn’t help sense that there was someone with him. Madam Pince, the librarian, was not present, and to have the library open without her was an oddity as well. 

But the books he was reading only made him feel worse. Every moment he’d read a paragraph, his heart would beat faster, because now he was beginning to realize what Hermione’s attacker was. 

_Golden eyes. Lustful advances. Draining. Raping. Pale._

Murderous. Secretive. 

Reno Morris was an incubus. 

He couldn’t believe it. Most forms of vampires were afraid of sunlight, but if he remembered correctly, Reno hadn’t even flinched. 

But there was no mistaking it. All Hermione’s symptoms, all his symptoms were clearly identified, as with the physical description of incubi. All kinds of vampires had bright yellow or red eyes. 

The library was murky; without Madam Pince some of the lights wouldn’t open to their full glory, so the library looked perfectly eerie in the late afternoon. Just then, a shadow journeyed across a wall. Harry instinctively drew out his wand and stood, sweat trickling down his neck. He was breathing heavily and the room grew even darker. 

“Who’s there?” He croaked, his voice echoing faintly in the lonesome library. There was no answer. He moved forward in a defensive stance, ready to blast the hell out of the incubus if he was looming around the place. 

“So Harry Potter has become paranoid.” 

Harry whirled around, wand in hand, only to find professor Snape smirking down at him. He glared. 

“Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after me.” 

Harry thought he had almost made the other man smile. Instead, Snape strode over to Harry, scrutinizing him as if he was checking for something he could dock points from. 

“Haven’t you noticed that the library is closed, or were you purposely breaking the rules?” Snape drawled scathingly. 

“Ms. Pince leaves the library closed if she means it to be closed.” Retorted Harry, gesturing to the unlocked doors. Snape looked unimpressed. 

“She was called as an emergency facilitator. The other teachers have left the school.” 

At Harry’s surprised stare, Snape continued, “King’s Cross was attacked this morning. Arthur Weasley asked for reinforcements.” 

“What!?” Burst Harry, aghast. “But is it over? Are they alright? What happened? Was anyone… hurt?” Harry refused to think of anyone worse than hurt. 

To Harry’s surprise, Snape softened his expression, and seemed to be restraining himself from touching Harry. “Many are hurt, Potter, and King’s Cross station is obliterated, or so I’ve been informed… But they have pacified the Dementors and Death Eaters.” 

“Dementors!” Shot Harry again. Snape didn’t reply, but stared at Harry intently. 

“I see you have healed rather well.” 

It seemed to Harry that Snape had a longing note in his voice. Harry couldn’t think of it now. He felt the world grow cold. For some odd reason, he knew why they attacked the station. Harry knew it was because of him. 

This guilt was overpowering him now. Here he was, skipping around the Hogwarts corridors, snogging Slytherins left and right, while people fought this war for him. Waiting for him to become strong enough to destroy his one enemy. 

“I have to start fighting with them, professor.” He said urgently. “I know why they attacked King’s.” 

This time, Snape was impressed. ”You are not yet ready.” He whispered softly. Harry shook his head. 

“I need to be. I need to be ready.” 

Even if the boy was muttering these words to himself now, his actions gave away his fear. 

Snape lifted Harry’s chin and stared deep into those luminescent eyes. To Snape’s irritation, his cock flared alive with passion as those astonishing green orbs found his. He rightfully shelved the feeling away. 

“No one expects you to rise up out of the blue, Potter.” He told him firmly, “If you are hasty you are merely making it easier for the Dark Lord to kill you.” 

It was no use. Harry seemed determined. He wanted his own faction, Snape could tell. He wanted to fight alongside the others. He had a feeling Dumbledore had already considered this. 

“I need to see Dumbledore. Where is he?” Asked Harry tartly. 

“I believe he is back in his office.” 

Without another word, Harry turned to go. Before he knew what he was doing, Snape had grabbed Potter’s robes and pulled him against a bookshelf. 

“Potter listen to me!” He snarled, “It’s true the Dark Lord won’t wait for you. It’s true that you have to be ready. But you must remember that with you lies the survival of human kind. If you alone die too early, then all is lost for the rest of us. Following thus, I believe that the more prudent wizards of our time are willing to wait for you.” 

Harry gnashed his teeth at the intensity of his responsibility. Everyone was depending on the tiny thread of his life, and without it, the Dark Lord would reign. The burden was powerfully heavy for him, for a moment, he was simply too afraid. 

It was then that he realized Snape’s arms were around him; that Snape’s cloak was enveloping him in a warm embrace. Sexual tension seemed to crackle around them, and Harry realized he was half aroused. 

Snape, in turn, was alarmed with his own daring. Should anyone walk in on them right now there was no telling how bad his reputation could get. He would surely be sacked, and Voldemort would be after him, and he doubted that even Dumbledore could protect him from the slander the public was sure to ensue. Still, more important to him was Potter's safety, was Potter's comfort, and this thought was both infuriating and consoling. 

“ _I_ will wait for you,” Snape whispered softly into his ear, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if it was really uttered. But for once, Harry felt comforted. 

Without thought, he lifted his face and his lips met Snape’s, and the professor groaned and pressed back, the kiss seeming suddenly urgent and hot. Snape’s sure hands began caressing the boy’s form, and Harry kissed back, kissed back in earnest, and only slightly alarmed that he was shoved onto the shelf with Snape pressed up against him. 

“We… shouldn’t do this,” Whispered Snape, but his lips trailed down the long expanse of Harry’s neck anyway. Harry merely groaned in reply. 

Those sure hands were now on Harry’s behind, bringing the young hips up to meet clothed erection. A hard bite on his neck made Harry yelp out loud. 

Snape ground his hips against his, but at that moment there was a strange hiss that startled Harry. It came from the shelf behind them. Snape too, paused for a moment, then withdrew, glaring daggers at the direction of the noise. Harry fixed himself and moved away from the space, wand at the ready. 

“Lumos,” whispered Snape, his wand coming alive with light. They drew closer to inspect, but neither wizard found anything there. They searched thoroughly, but Snape seemed to pass it off as something they had imagined. Harry knew better. Their imagination couldn’t run the same illusion. The feeling of dread and fear came upon Harry once more. And suddenly remembering, he turned to Snape and exclaimed. 

“Professor! I forgot to tell you what I just found out! Reno Morris is a vampire! An incubus!” 

Snape paused for a moment, then arched a brow, looking at him like he had gone mad. “Professor Reno is no such thing.” 

_Oh, he’s the kind of skeptical bugger that I hate._ Harry thought, lifting his hands in frustration. 

“That’s the thing, but then Hermione and I had these symptoms, and—” 

“—However,” Snape interrupted smoothly, “most of the second year Hufflepuffs are convinced that I am a vampire.” Snape’s skeptical look now changed into one of dark amusement. He smirked at Harry, his dark eyes flashing, looking predatory as he began to stalk closer. “And perhaps I am.” 

_It looks like he’s hiding something, or he’s toying with me_ , thought Harry, yet a tremor still went down Harry’s body, and Snape seemed to realize it. The tall professor continued lowly, “Perhaps I am an incubus, an incubus who, just now, decides to claim his own.” He gave a hot stare up and down Harry's form. Harry gave a nervous laugh. 

“Okay, professor, the heat’s getting to you, maybe we should—” 

Snape caught Harry’s lips in a bruising kiss, before leaning over to his ear. “I want you to suck me, Potter.” 

A thrill of pure pleasure ran down Harry’s spine as Snape’s low voice and hot breath licked at his ear. Harry wondered whether he was still in the arms of the most recent aphrodisiac, but that thought was carried away when he felt his professor’s chest, warm and solid, pressing him against another shelf again. Vampire crisis forgotten, Harry glanced down and saw Snape’s bulge, large and constricted. He sank onto his knees and gave his professor a smirk as his fingers began releasing the man’s confines. 

Oh dear. He was enjoying this far too much. 

\--- 

Harry ran across the halls long after dinnertime ended. He’d been so caught up in the library for so long, and both he and professor Snape had missed dinner. 

He was pumping with anxiety over his more pressing problems. Was anyone hurt in King’s Cross? Was Hagrid okay? Was Hermione protected against Reno? Was Voldemort planning another attack? 

Oh god. He shouldn’t have caved in to the desire, back there. But Snape seemed… different, not cold or prickly as before. It was as if he actually cared now. His dark eyes said he held a secret, a gentle secret and it made Harry burn with lust. It was as if Snape was letting go of his mask... 

_Great. Crushing on a teacher that happened to be my father’s sworn enemy, the Dark Lord’s minion, and all the students’ school nightmare. Not to mention he flunked me last year._

Finally, he was in front of the familiar gargoyle that stood between him and Dumbledore’s office. He caught his breath, before recklessly guessing at all the sweets he could remember. 

“Gumdrum Nougat! Sweet mice chill! Clucking candylice! Puking Pastille! Dew—” 

The gargoyle leaped aside. Harry beamed, allowing himself a moment of his victory. Puking pastille, eh? He wondered whether Dumbledore knew that the puking pastille had been first tested within this very school. 

But he pondered no more as he raced up the stairs and swung open Dumbledore’s doors, only to gasp out loud. He nearly toppled upon his own two feet. 

His shocked expression didn’t change as he surveyed Dumbledore and Reno Morris, both standing up, their wands aimed at each other threateningly. 

\--- 

**A/N:** Oh dear, was it too much? I’m sorry for super-expanding this fic! BTW I also noticed some people like Draco over Snape, but I gotta say that I can’t tell exactly tell where this will lead, so please at least consider that it could end Snape/Harry. However, it also might be Draco/Harry, or Draco/Harry/Snape. Wai! I don’t know! But keep voicing your opinions! 

Disclaimers on Kurt Cobain’s line, which I had rephrased. ‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you,’ which I also discovered in A Boy, Lost. I’m an addict, sue me! 

BTW, don’t worry! Malfoy isn’t purely evil! You see, though he does those awful things, he does seem to regret them, although he himself doesn’t want to ponder over it! And you shall understand why Snape acted the way he did after Harry called attention to the ‘incubus’ fiasco! Any smart guesses? And if anyone asks why I cut the citrus in Snape’s part, don’t worry, MORE TO COME! More Draco too. Hehehe! I am a PERVERT! (It’s just that this is so looong!) 

Well, reading the whole story in whole, I’ve realized there are a lot of ends I need to tie: griffin, quidditch games and practice, auror shit, even the Hogsmeade weekend I mentioned earlier. Okay, I’ll think of good plot twists for them… Got some cool ideas… hmm.. Also: I inserted the incubus thing because ‘The Claiming’ is such a sexual story that I couldn’t resist! 

Also, I’ve decided to copy-paste the review page because I felt so guilty for not pondering over all of them. THANK YOU so much for following this fic with me. I saved all your words in my computer, and started highlighting questions and suggestions and assumptions; you won’t believe how much your reviews are affecting this story! (you notice now that I am a full-fledged geek? ) I’ll try to cater your comments: in fact, I responded to quite a few questions in this chapter. Keep your eyes peeled and don’t lose patience! 

To all those that have seen MI3, do you remember Maggie Q’s (the hot Asian agent) outfit in the Vatican scene? I kept thinking of Ginny’s dress in chap four when I saw her. -drool- Marry me, Maggie Q! I dedicate this chapter to her! 

My beta has not yet replied when I sent this to her to edit, so I guess she's pretty busy right now. So at the moment, this is unbeta-ed. Oh well! 


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